


Holy Ground

by Julibean19



Series: The Hardest Part [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, BDSM, Bad Sex, Bottom Jack, Breathplay, Coming Out, Dark Past, Depression, Drug Abuse, Family Drama, Figure Skater Eric "Bitty" Bittle, Flogging, Grey Ace Jack, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Medication, Olympics, Overdosing, Overstimulation, POV Jack Zimmermann, Past Abuse, Past Kent Parson/Jack Zimmermann, Praise Kink, Religion, Sex Toys, Sexual Dysfunction, Stanley Cup Playoffs, Sub Jack, Subspace, Therapy, Under-negotiated Kink, Vacation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 02:31:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17695937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julibean19/pseuds/Julibean19
Summary: Resigned to not being understood, Jack sighs heavily.  “Nevermind.  I’m just tired and getting a little hysterical.  It’s going to be an adjustment, but we can handle it.  We will handle it,”  he amends, shaking his head.“You still think Itty Bitty needs more,” Tater says finally, eyes narrowing.  “You think he find boyfriend that less trouble?  Less anxious?  Less broken?  Less work?  You afraid he leave you?”“I—” Jack starts to protest but chokes on the words.“Everyone take work, Jack,” Tater says, laying a hand on his shoulder and then ducking his head until Jack looks at him.  “No one perfect boyfriend, perfect husband all the time.  Eric know this.  He love you anyway.”Jack and Bitty love, laugh, struggle, and survive together during the most joyous and most difficult days of their lives.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to You're My Amen and starts basically right where that leaves off. You definitely need to read that one first before starting here.
> 
> I have no idea where this ends or how long it will be or how frequently I'll post. I am a hot pregnant mess who is currently remodeling her house, so please, be patient with me! I just had 100k words written and started thinking it was silly to keep sitting on them.
> 
> Special thanks to [LeftWingLibrarian](https://leftwinglibrarian.tumblr.com/) ([AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leftwinglibrarian)) and [theyllbepeacewhenyouaredone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/therellbepeacewhenyouaredone/pseuds/therellbepeacewhenyouaredone) for graciously agreeing to beta read for me!
> 
> If you think I'm missing a tag, please let me know. Most tags from the first fic still apply in some form or another but I haven't written the ending yet so I might need to add stuff as I go along.
> 
> [Check, Please!](http://checkpleasecomic.com/comic/01-01-01) belongs to Ngozi Ukazu and her publishers. No profit is being made from this work of fanfiction.

Jack wakes up to the scent of dark roast coffee.  He flings an arm out and finds a cold spot in the bed beside him.  It’s early. When he looks over to the alarm clock, it reads 5:22 a.m.  Jack can’t think of any reason Bitty should be up so early, but he supposes his boyfriend could just be trying to get back onto a skating schedule.  Rolling over he finds Señor Bun propped up on Eric’s pillow, pointed toward Jack like a silent sentinel, his small, love-worn face blank but comforting. 

He lunges out of bed and fixes the sheets, making sure Señor Bunny is sitting right on the midline between their pillows.  Foregoing a shirt, Jack scratches his stomach and heads toward the kitchen. It might just be him, but he thinks it’s warmer than usual in the apartment.  He and Bitty had fallen into bed late last night and cuddled up tight for comfort, too tired to make good on their earlier flirtations. Bitty seems to have recovered, however, because when Jack sees him standing out the counter chopping fruit, his eyes go wide.  

He’s finally getting a glimpse of the infamous short shorts and Jack is… appreciative.  For the first time in years, he thinks he can feel himself get hard in his underwear. Blood rushes south as he takes in the view.  

The shorts are red, cutting Bitty just below the curve of his criminally toned ass.  He’s pulled on Jack’s old Samwell shirt and long white athletic socks with red stripes ringing his legs above the knee.  Now he knows why Bitty turned the heat up. He’s practically indecent.

Bitty’s standing on his toes, one leg bent at the knee, foot balanced on his inner thigh.  It’s obvious he’s been getting antsy, eager to push forward with his recovery. This morning, he seems to be working on his flexibility.  

Jack watches as he extends his leg and slowly raises it until he can get his heel up on the counter.  His calves strain, but he points his toe anyway, back straight, neck arched. The sunlight pours in the large wall of windows and glints off the shiny countertop.  Jack stares, mesmerized by the way it highlights the soft blond hair on Bitty’s thighs. 

It looks impossible, but Bitty is still chopping up a pineapple, humming softly something Jack recognizes as Beyoncé.  He drops to his heel, deepening the stretch, and Jack’s mouth goes dry as he sets the knife down on the cutting board and leans into it.  Bitty gently raises his arms above his head in a dancer’s pose and twists his torso, bending at the waist to drape his upper body along his outstretched leg.  He lowers himself, inch by inch, but he only gets halfway to a full bend before gasping in pain and straightening out.

“You’re pushing too fast,” Jack says, finally finding his voice.  

“Jack!” he yelps, heel sliding off the counter as he spins around.  “You scared me!”

“Good,” Jack says, coming in close for a snuggle.  “You know you shouldn’t be bending like that just yet.”

“Don’t be such a mother hen, sweetpea,” Bitty says.  It starts as a grumble but turns into a giggle as Jack nuzzles into his shoulder and mouths at his collarbone.  “Katya’s coming up next week and I need to be ready.”

“She’s not going to push you onto the ice right away.  They’ve already chosen the Olympic team for 2018, haven’t they?  That’s over four years you have to get ready.”

“Lord, you know nothing about competitive figure skating,” Bitty breathes, words trailing into gasps as Jack nibbles along the expanse of his throat.  “I have to qualify and that means regionals then sectionals,  _ then _ nationals and worlds and then maybe, if I skate consistently… then  _ maybe _ the Olympics.  Not to mention getting registered with a federation and grands prix and all that traveling!  I’m going to  _ need _ all those years!  It’s a long road, sugar,” he finishes softly, tone falling like he’s already discouraged.

“I’ll help,” Jack says against Bitty’s skin.  “We’ll get you everything you need and you’ll go slowly until you’re fully healed, and there’s a club in Providence, isn’t there?  I know we can make it work,” he says softly, earnestly, hopefully. “I  _ want _ to make it work.  You’ve had to give up so much of yourself in this life already… I don’t want you to give up on your dream.”

“Jack,” Bitty says, taking a step back until he can look into Jack’s eyes.  “I love your enthusiasm, I really do. But are you sure about all this? We’re talking about a lot of money, a lot of time and commitment.  I’m going to have a crazy competition schedule. I might not be able to make all your games. We might be on opposite ends of the globe for weeks on end.  And it’s not just me we’re talking about. It’s Mama and Katya, too. That’s three whole people for you to support, and I just don’t know if I feel comfortable with it.”

“Eric,” Jack says, taking both of his hands.  “I know talking about money is always going to be awkward between us because of what happened to you and how I grew up, but I need you to understand one thing.  I don’t  _ need _ any of the money that I have,” he takes a deep breath before continuing.  This is where things are going to get uncomfortable for Bitty.

“I already had a trust fund before I even started playing.  I don’t live that extravagantly and I regularly give to charities on my own, even apart from my family’s foundation.  I gave a million dollars to the True Colors fund as soon as you told me about it. I actually gave Miriam Hospital that million dollars I promised the EMTs.  I give to You Can Play and the Human Rights Campaign and so many others. I could do that every year for as long as I live and still not have to worry, so I don’t want you to worry either.”

Bitty’s eyes are growing wet and he’s biting down so hard on his lower lip that it’s gone white around his teeth.

Jack knows Eric will start protesting or crying any second, so he lets out a breath through his nose and prepares himself.  It’s so important for him to be clear, so he takes his time. Jack doesn’t want there to be any confusion about this.

“I know you don’t want to take things from me, but _please_ stop thinking about it like it’s charity.  I already give to charities.   _You_ are not a charity.   _Mama_ is not a charity.  I haven’t met Katya yet, but she certainly won’t be a charity.  She’s going to do a job and we’re going to pay her a salary. I know it’s got to be a huge adjustment for you, going from worrying about everything to wanting for nothing, but I want that for you.  I don’t want you to have to worry about a single thing. I want you to be my partner in every sense of the word. I want you to think of it as _our_ money.  From now on.  Alright?”

“W-we’re not married, Jack,” Bitty says, eyes wide and mouth dropped open.  

“Well, no.  Not yet anyway,” Jack says, giving Bitty a small smile.  “But I think we both know we’re headed there. I know it’s soon, but we’ve already been through so much together.  And I know you’re young, but I’ve never been more committed to anything in my life. There’s you and there’s hockey.  That’s it for me.  _ You’re _ it for me.  So I’m going to get you a credit card and a bank card and if you have something you’d like to invest in, or donate to, you tell me about it and we can set up an appointment with my financial advisor.”

“I can’t just charge things to your credit card, Jack.  That’s ridiculous,” Eric says, shaking his head. “Don’t you want some sort of commitment from me?  Like a prenup or something? I could take you for everything you’re worth. You’d be a fool to give me access to your money.”

“Then I’m a fool.”

“Jack Laurent Zimmermann,” Eric says with a huff.  “Please be sensible.”

His lips turn upward when he sees the frown on Eric’s face.  There’s something about that dimple between his eyebrows and the way he wrinkles his nose when he’s upset that always makes Jack feel incredibly fond.  “I have your commitment. I know I do,” Jack says, squeezing Bitty’s hand. “I never doubted you. Even when I found out you’d been lying, I still knew you loved me for me.”

“Of course I loved you, Jack.  That’s  _ why _ I was lying!  I just needed to get a job and get on my feet and then I was going to be good enough.  If I could have gotten an apartment and a phone by myself, then you never would have had to know,” he drops Jack’s hands and paces away, agitation growing.  “I was getting there. I swear I was,” Bitty starts to babble, eyes shining with moisture. “I had a job at the rink lined up for the summer and by the fall I would have had enough saved up to at least find some roommates.  Then we could have been together for real.”

“We were together for real,” Jack says, shaking his head with a fond smile on his face.  “Everything about you is real. I loved you then and I love you now and you have always been good enough—for me or for anyone else.  I know why you were lying. I know that you were scared and trying so hard to be what you thought I wanted, but I trust you. I trusted you then and I still trust you now.  I know you’d never take advantage of me.”

“I just—Jack, there’s no way you’re sharing your bank account with me before we get a prenup.  You need some kind of protection. Some sort of commitment…”

“I do want the commitment, but I know it’s too soon to ask,” Jack says, still smiling.  Bitty can be so dense sometimes. Doesn’t he see that he already has everything he’s ever wanted?  All Jack wants is to put them on even ground for the first time in their relationship. All he wants is to make Bitty’s dreams come true, and if it takes a million dollars to do it?  Jack has more than enough to spare. 

“All I need from you is one thing,” he says, gaze softening as he takes in the sight of the love of his life in his kitchen.  The sun is higher now, shining through the gaps between the buildings on the other side of the water, the almost metallic glow warming Bitty’s blond hair.  He’s beautiful and perfect, looking so earnest as he waits for Jack to speak.

“What?” Bitty asks, sucking in a deep breath like he’s going to have to argue against whatever stupid condition Jack comes up with.

“When I ask you to marry me—say yes,” Jack says, lips curving into a slow, sweet smile.     

“God, Jack,” Bitty breathes out.  “You had me worried there for a second.”  

“What did you think I was going to say?”

“I don’t know,” Bitty says, laying a palm on Jack’s chest, “but that sure wasn’t it.”

“Look,” Jack says seriously, clutching at the hand on his chest like he’s afraid it will disappear any moment.  “I don’t want you to feel pressured. I don’t want to rush into things that you don’t want or aren’t ready for. If you don’t want to marry me, that’s okay.  If you want to break up with me—”

“—I do  _ not _ want to break up with you, sweetheart.  That is the last thing on my mind right now.  I—”

“—Just let me finish,” Jack begs, squeezing Eric’s hand even tighter.  “If you want to break up with me… now or ever… I’ll—well I’ll be devastated, but I will never, ever take this away from you.  Even if we were just friends, I would still want to give this to you. I want you to train and to skate and to win whatever competitions you set your mind to.  I want you to set the whole fucking world on fire, Bits. Even if we’re not together, I will be your best friend and your biggest fan for the rest of your life.  So no, I don’t need a prenup. I’d never ask you for that, because I know you would never hurt me on purpose.”

“Jack,” Bitty breathes, taking his free hand and bringing it up to cup Jack’s cheek.  “I love you with everything I’ve got, which, granted, isn’t much. But just so you know,” he ducks his head then, a blush rising to cheeks.  When he looks up, he’s biting his lower lip and fighting down a grin. “When you ask? I’ll say yes.”

“You mean it?” Jack asks, letting his face tilt to the side just to feel more of Bitty’s skin on his, to sink deeper into his touch.  His eyes fall closed and he takes a deep breath, soaking up the scent of Bitty, the texture of his fingertips against his cheek. 

“I know I’ve been rushing you.  And I’ll pull back if you need me to.  I mean—” he catches himself. “—I don’t know how to give you less but I’ll try if that’s what you need.  I’ve never been in a relationship like this before and I don’t think I know how to do any of these things properly.  I’m sorry if I dive in too quick and pull you into the deep end too fast and—”

“—Jack, look at me,” Bitty says, waiting until Jack opens his eyes to continue speaking.  “I never asked for less. I don’t want less. I want all of you. I think we dove into that deep end a while ago, don’t you, sugar?”

Jack nods, relieved he can stop talking himself in circles and just look into Bitty’s wide brown eyes.  

“Good,” he says, pressing a kiss to Jack’s lips.  “Now let me love on you for a little while, Mister Zimmermann.  It’s been too long.”

“Ouais,” Jack says, letting Bitty pull him down by the shoulders and into a scorching kiss.  

Eric licks into his mouth and reminds Jack that a few minutes ago, he was hard just at the sight of him in these tiny little shorts.  Accepting Eric’s tongue, Jack reaches down and trails his fingers over the hem of the shorts where they graze Bitty’s ass. 

Shivering, Bitty bites down on Jack’s lower lip.  “Like them?” he asks between kisses. “I picked these out special for you this mornin’,” he drawls, lips shiny and swollen.  “They’re Samwell red.”

“I got hard just looking at them,” Jack admits, cheeks heating when Eric’s eyebrows creep up his forehead.  

“You don’t say,” he mutters, sliding one thigh between Jack’s legs to feel for himself.  “Why Mister Zimmermann… what do we have here?”

Jack can’t help it, he ducks his head, overcome with embarrassment.  His nipples are peaked and his dick is hard after only a few kisses. He feels like a horny teenager.  

“You have nothing to be shy about, honey,” Bitty says, hooking a finger under his chin and lifting his face.  “You’re beautiful. Every inch of you is beautiful.”

Jack’s hands clench down on Bitty’s butt cheeks and knead them as he rocks against Eric’s thigh.  “I want you,” he whispers against Eric’s throat, biting down low on his neck and worrying a mark there.  

“Yes,” Bitty says, tangling his fingers into Jack’s hair as he begins leaving a trail of love bites up his throat.  

Taking what is being offered, Jack slides his hands under the hem of Bitty’s shorts and finds that he’s not wearing underwear.  His fingers creep toward Bitty’s center, just barely brushing over his hole. Eric freezes under Jack’s touch, tightening like a coiled spring.  

“How do you want me?” Bitty asks, voice breathy and high as Jack continues to ravage his neck.  

Jack groans and cants his hips forward, searching for more friction.  It’s an odd question, one that Jack doesn’t know the answer to. He has no intention of topping Bitty—has never really wanted to take the lead.  Even now when his erection is heavy and insistent, he doesn’t know what he wants to do about it. “Non, s’il te plaît,” he practically whines, biting down on Eric’s throat one more time, “dis-moi.  Me fais pas choisir, s’il te plaît, mon lapin.”

“Put me on the counter, Jack,” Bitty says, somehow understanding him through tone alone.  

It’s easy to comply.  Jack already has his hands on Bitty’s ass, so all he has to do is lift him a few feet off the ground and turn to face the counter.  Steering clear of the cutting board, Jack puts Eric down on the other side of the sink and steps into the vee of his legs. When he pulls his face away and looks at Bitty, he can’t help but lick his lips.

Eric’s thighs are tantalizing, thick muscle covered with a soft layer of blond hair.  They attract Jack’s hands like magnets, thumbs trailing from the inside all the way up under the hem at Bitty’s crotch.  They brush against his balls and rub small circles there, fingertips clenching down on the tops of Bitty’s strong thighs.  

He surges forward and captures Bitty’s mouth, paying special attention to the small divot in his lower lip.  Taking his time, Jack deepens the kiss, digging his thumbs into Bitty’s inner thighs and moaning when he feels Eric’s cock twitch against his fingers.

“Want you to fuck me,” Jack says against Eric’s lips.  Breaking away for a second to catch his breath, Jack’s fingers sneak under the hem of Bitty’s shorts and wrap around his dick.  When he looks down, a damp patch is forming at the head and the shaft is plumping up, trapped beneath the tight fabric. 

“Take them off, baby,” Eric says.  “I can’t even get hard all the way in these tiny things.”

“Ouais,” Jack says, licking his lips and gulping as he reaches for the button.  

Eric’s hand is tight in his hair and Jack feels a shiver shoot down his spine when short nails scratch along his hairline.  His dick gets even harder at the contact and Jack begins to wonder if he’ll be able to come without Bitty stimulating his prostate.  He’s talked to Blaire about it but after his last panic attack they agreed that taking the final step down off his of Cymbalta would be an unnecessary experiment right now.  If he’s still unhappy with his sexual dysfunction after the season ends, they’ll discuss it then.

“Jack?  Are you listening to me?” Eric asks.  

“Uhh,” Jack says, realizing his hands are frozen, his thumb and index finger still pinching Bitty’s button.  

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Jack says, shaking his head slightly.  “I was just thinking about my dick, actually.”

“I’m thinking about it, too,” Bitty laughs, squeezing Jack’s biceps.  “I’m thinking about how much you’re going to come once I get my hands on you.”

“W-will you fuck me?” Jack asks, eyelashes fluttering as his lips stumble over the words.  

“I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll be speaking French.”

“Quebecois,” Jack corrects immediately.

“Right.  Quebecois,” Bitty repeats, butchering the pronunciation.  “I swear I’ll get one of those language apps on my phone as soon as we’re done here.”

“Will you keep the socks on?” Jack asks, licking his lips.  

“Honey, I’ll keep the shorts on too if they make you hard like this,” Bitty says with a smile.  “I just need you to get the button undone before I pass out.”

“They are very tight,” Jack says, fiddling with the button.  “I think your dick is just too big for them.”

“You are ridiculous, Mister Zimmermann,” Bitty huffs out a laugh and rolls his eyes.  “I mean, you’re not wrong, but you’re ridiculous for pointin’ it out. I don’t think I was quite full grown the last time I put these on.”

“I’m not complaining,” Jack mutters, pitching his voice low enough to make Eric’s hand tighten in his hair.  He finally slides the button through its hole and pinches the zipper pull.

“Mornin’!” Suzanne calls as she makes her way through the living room and into the kitchen.  

Jack and Bitty jump apart, Eric’s thin fingers fumbling with his button as he drops to the floor and turns back to the cutting board.  He’s fairly well hidden, pulling the Samwell shirt down over his hips as far as it will go. Jack however, has nowhere to hide. He turns to the counter as well, hands reaching for a dish towel.

“What are you boys doin’ up so early?” she asks, the smile dropping off her face when she rounds the counter and sees the state of them.

“Just makin’ Jack a smoothie before his run,” Bitty squeaks, tossing a handful of spinach into the blender along with some pineapple slices.

“Good Lord, Dicky,” she says, eyes widening in shock.  “Those shorts are so short you can see Christmas!”

Jack tries not to laugh, because he is in no position to be teasing Bitty when he has a raging erection and is practically naked, but the way Bitty’s face turns beet red as he struggles to come up with a response is making it impossible.  

“Jack,” Bitty mutters out the corner of his mouth.  “I will spank you raw if you don’t stop laughing right now.”

Jack drops the dish he’s pretending to dry into the sink with a clatter. 

“That’s what I thought,” Bitty says smugly.  “Now why don’t you go put on your running gear while I finish your drink?”

Jack doesn’t need to be told twice.  He gives Mama a small little smile and a shrug and then runs back to his room still holding the dish towel in front of his crotch.  

“In the kitchen, Dicky?  Really?” he hears Suzanne say as he looks through his closet for some Under Armour.

“We’re grown men, Mama.  Don’t you even think about lecturing me.  Not with the way you’ve been carrying on.”

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, parading around in that getup.  You’re gonna to give that poor boy a heart attack.”

“Get your straw outta my sweet tea, Mother,” Bitty says before switching on the blender.  

Jack can’t hear the rest of what they’re saying over the noise, so he finds his clothes and begins pulling them on.  Except he’s still hard and it’s obvious in his leggings. He pulls shorts on over top but there’s still a pretty large tent in the fabric.  “Fuck,” he mutters. He finally gets an erection that lasts beyond direct contact and now he has to get rid of it. With a heavy sigh, Jack heads to the bathroom and splashes cold water on his face and the back of his neck until he cools down.

“Here you go, sugar,” Eric says as soon as he reenters the kitchen.  He’s poured the smoothie into a bottle for him and is holding it out cautiously like Jack might not like it.  “I put some of that gross protein powder in it and everything,” he adds, smiling softly and shaking the bottle in his direction.

“Pretty soon you’ll need the gross protein powder too, eh?” Jack says, taking the bottle and pecking him on the cheek in gratitude.  

“I don’t think so,” Bitty says, scrunching his nose up in disgust.  “I always did well enough with real food. Salmon and chicken and almond butter, you know.”

“Almond butter?” Jack asks, perking up at the thought.  

“Yessir.  Homemade almond butter,” Bitty says, expression brightening.  “I could make you some, but I’d have to go to the store. You don’t have anything in the pantry.”

“Bits,” Jack starts with a sigh.  “There’s nothing stopping you from going to the store.  Just take my wallet and the truck and get whatever you need, alright?”

“Jack—” Bitty starts to protest.

“—Don’t start this up again.  I’ll be gone with Tater for a few hours and come back for a nap before dinner.  Take the truck for now and we’ll start talking about what kind of car you want tonight.”

“First of all, you are not buying me a car.  Don’t even think about it. But,” he says, considering, “your parents do want to take Mama out apartment hunting.  I suppose I could go to the store myself,” Bitty hedges, biting his bottom lip.

“If you don’t want to go alone after what happened, I’d understand,” Jack says, not sure what has Bitty more frightened, being attacked again, or being spotted by fans.  “But if you’re just worried about taking advantage again… maybe just baby steps, right? You’re only buying food and it’s food that I’m going to eat with you. It’s not an extravagance.  Alright? It’s just daily life.”

“Right,” Bitty says, letting out a deep breath.  “It’s just the market not a shopping spree.”

“Good,” Jack says, smiling fondly.  “I love you. Spare key for the truck is on the hook, okay?”

“Okay.  I love you too, sweetpea,” he says, accepting a goodbye kiss and watching Jack slip out the front door.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation: “Non, s’il te plaît,” he practically whines, biting down on Eric’s throat one more time, “dis-moi. Me fais pas choisir, s’il te plaît, mon lapin.”  
> "No, please. Tell me. Don't make me choose, please, my rabbit."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's no secret that I also don't speak Russian. So my apologies in advance for butchering two languages in this fic.

“I don’t know what to do,” Jack groans as they slow to a walk and then stop to stretch.  

“Just tell tiny baker not wear sex shorts until after Mother Bittle go to sleep,” Tater suggests, shrugging as he hikes his shorts up to stretch out his quad.  “They break my Zimmboni.”

“I’m not talking about sex, Alexei.  I’m talking about life,” Jack says, shaking his head and then turning it into a roll as he works the tension out of his neck.  

“I not understand,” Tater says, eyes narrowing.  “You get Mother Bittle apartment, then everything fine, yes?  Grown men not meant to live with mothers, at least not in America.  In Russia, is different.”

“It’s not just his mother, Tater,” Jack says, bending at the waist to stretch out his back.  “We love each other, more than anything, but every time we talk about the future it’s like suddenly I’m the one whipping around the rink too fast.  I’m the one leaving him behind covered in snow.”

Tater ducks down to a crouch and looks at Jack where his face hangs upside down between his legs.  His brow is furrowed in confusion the way it gets when he needs to read someone’s facial expression to understand the words.    

“We don’t know how to be together yet,” Jack tries again, doing his best to explain.  “I want him to feel like he belongs—like he’s home, but something isn’t connecting. He just seems so uncomfortable with the idea of being partners.  Not if it means money and fame and responsibilities, and that’s me. That’s my whole life, one big pile of expectations that I didn’t ask for—tons of money that still doesn’t fix anything.”  Jack lets out a long exhale, leaning into the stretch. “What if we can’t make it work?”

Tilting his head, Alexei considers this.  He actually stands there with a frown on his face while he thinks it over.  

Resigned to not being understood, Jack sighs heavily.  “Nevermind. I’m just tired and getting a little hysterical.  It’s going to be an adjustment, but we can handle it. We will handle it,”  he amends, shaking his head.

“You still think Itty Bitty needs more,” Tater says finally, eyes narrowing.  “You think he find boyfriend that less trouble? Less anxious? Less broken? Less work?  You afraid he leave you?”

“I—” Jack starts to protest but chokes on the words.

“Everyone take work, Jack,” Tater says, laying a hand on his shoulder and then ducking his head until Jack looks at him.  “No one perfect boyfriend, perfect husband all the time. Eric know this. He love you anyway.”

“I guess…”

“Jack,” Tater drawls, waiting Jack out until he lifts his head and gives his full attention.  “You listen closely,” he says, giving Jack a quick smile when he nods. “It only first week. Love take time, family not always easy, but if you plant it right, water it, feed it, give it time to make roots, it grow.  This is truth.”

“I don’t know how, Alexei,” Jack protests.  He’s a mess. He’s always been a mess. Jack’s one and only long-term relationship literally ended in death and he can’t let that happen again this time.  He needs to make this one last, preferably for the rest of his life.

Tater squeezes Jack’s shoulder and smiles, eyes lighting up like he’s just had a thought.  “On ice, you captain,” he says, grin growing. “At home, uh—” he falters, looking for the right word.  “In private… you no captain, yes?”

“Yes,” Jack agrees, feeling the embarrassment rush to his cheeks.  Is it that obvious? Is that bad? Jack doesn’t want to broadcast the details of their personal life if he can help it.  Not only would the media have a field day, but he’d never hear the end of it from the team. If Shitty ever finds out, the chirps would be endless.

“Then you meet in middle.”

“What?” Jack says.  His brain comes back online with a lurch.  

“You meet in middle.  Every time,” Tater says, voice pitched deep like this is a very important point.  

The gravity of the words hit Jack the second time around.

“No one should be captain all the time,” Tater carries on like he didn’t just cause a permanent shift in Jack’s world view.  “You no let Eric decide everything, you don’t give everything away, not when is important. Itty Bitty can’t get all power because you feel you too lucky to say no.  You understand?”

“I think so?” Jack says, turning it all over in his mind.  Maybe he has been letting Bitty get away with murder. Maybe he should make it more equal somehow.

“You talk more, worry less.  Every time you worry, you tell Itty Bitty.  You explain worry, you decide together how to make worry go away.  And if that not work, you do what my babushka use to do back in old country with dedulya.”

“What’s that?”

"Vedete peregovory,” Tater mutters and then frowns, searching for the English.  It doesn’t come to him, so he waves his hands and starts explaining. “You say no pies before dinner and he say three pies and you say no pies and then he put on sex shorts and you say okay, one pie before dinner.  How you say?”

“Negotiate?”

“Da!  Negotiate!” Tater crows, taking out his phone to write the word down in his notepad.  “Sometimes it easy and sometimes it means you chop firewood until your toes fall off, but it always work.”

“We used to do that,” Jack says, mind wandering back to some of the first emails he ever got from Eric, the ones that traded a hat trick for a maple pecan tart, the ones that got Jack his first kiss from his boyfriend, all hot skin and melted chocolate.  “I could try it.”

“Good,” Tater says with a grin.  He runs a hand through his sweaty hair and grimaces.  “You go try that now. I need shower and nap.”

“We still have four more miles, Alexei!” Jack groans when Tater starts backing away from him and down the street.  

“You have thinking to do and I have napping to do,” Tater says, lunging forward one last time to ruffle Jack’s hair.  

“Fine.  Go,” Jack says, pushing him off.  “But I’m adding these four to Thursday’s miles.”

“No one need more than 10 miles at once, Zimmboni.  Not even you.”

“It’s only a week until break.  You can’t slack off now,” Jack argues.  

“And you can’t be so afraid Eric leave that you don’t make relationship good enough to stay,” Tater says, abruptly changing the topic.  

Jack opens his mouth to answer, but he’s struck dumb.  

Tater smiles, raising his eyebrows as he jogs backward and away from Jack, back toward home.

“Fuck,” Jack mutters, dashing off in the direction of his apartment building.  “I’ve been a complete idiot.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [enimix3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emimix3/pseuds/emimix3) for helping me correct my French!

When Jack returns, Bitty is back in the kitchen, the food processor running and Rihanna blaring from the speakers.  He’s changed, much to Jack’s dismay, back in the same old clothes he was wearing when they met. Jack will have to take him shopping for some new things.  At the very least, he’d like to make sure Bitty’s warm and comfortable.

“You changed,” Jack points out, frowning at Bitty’s worn jeans.

“Well, I couldn’t very well wear those shorts out in public,” Bitty trills, head still bobbing to the beat of the music.  “I don’t have a death wish.”

Jack frowns even harder, face so tight he can feel his forehead wrinkling in dismay.  “How was the store?” he asks, upset that Bitty might have trouble walking the street without fearing strangers.  

“Just fine, sugar,” he says, hips shaking to the beat.  “I got almonds and cashews and I think I’m gonna compare and contrast.  I also got some cherries and plums on sale so Mama and I can make some jam later.”

“Sounds good,” Jack says, watching with great interest as Bitty returns to the counter, biceps flexing as he kneads and shapes some kind of dough.  “What’s that?” he asks. The scent is heavenly even unbaked, rich with molasses and oatmeal.

“Just some multigrain bread.  I figured you could use some sandwiches for your pre-game snack.  Mama used to make them for me before every competition… wrap them up in these little tin foil packages with encouraging notes on them, cut the crusts off and everything,” Bitty says, forming the dough into a ball with a smooth, tight skin.  

“I like the crust,” Jack says blandly, still focused on the way Bitty’s arms bulge with every movement.  “Please leave the crust. It’s more fiber.”

“You are utterly ridiculous, Mister Zimmermann,” Bitty says, tone fond.  “But fine, I’ll leave the crust.”

“Thank you,” Jack says with a smile.  He goes to the fridge and fills a glass with Powerade and ice.

“It’s no trouble, honey,” Bitty says, scooping the nut butter into a waiting Tupperware.  “I’m just glad to be doing something useful while I wait on Katya and heal up a bit more.”

“You know you don’t have to earn your keep, right?” Jack asks, growing more and more concerned about Bitty’s behavior.  “You’re allowed to just chill out and catch up on Netflix.”

“I might take you up on that at some point, but for right now, I think I just need to keep myself busy,” Bitty says, snapping the lid of the Tupperware closed and setting it aside.  

“Are you busy now?” Jack asks, smiling sheepishly as he surveys the messy kitchen.  

“Not especially,” Bitty says with a knowing lilt.  “Mama won’t be back with your parents until dinner.  Let me just set this bread to proof and I’m all yours.”

“I’m gonna get in the shower,” Jack says, backing away.  He’s pretty sure he can smell himself and figures it can’t be pleasant for Eric.  

“I’ll be right there,” Bitty says, raising his eyebrows in appreciation.

Jack hurries to the master bath and turns on the water, stripping out of his sweaty clothes as he goes.  He’s just about to step under the spray when he hears Eric enter the bedroom and lock the door behind him.

“I’m so sick of getting walked in on,” he mutters as he approaches the bathroom door.  “Just between you, me, and the fence post, I hope Mama finds an apartment today.”

“That would be nice,” Jack says, testing the water temperature with his hand before stepping under the spray.  He knows he enjoys Bitty’s natural scent, but he’s pretty sure no one could be expected to appreciate the way Jack smells after a ten-mile run.  Lathering the soap in his hands, he gives himself a quick wash before Eric even gets in the shower.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Bitty drawls, closing the glass door behind him.  “I feel like I haven’t seen you naked in ages.”

“It’s been three days,” Jack says with a small laugh, finishing up with the soap and starting to rinse off.  “Maybe four.”

“That’s four days too long,” Bitty says, running a hand down Jack’s chest.  “Now kiss me until the water goes cold.”

“I can do that,” Jack says smoothly.  Things are always easier when Jack’s given a clear instruction.  Before he’s made a conscious decision to comply, Bitty is already crowding into his space, pressing him against the cool tile and attacking his mouth.  

It feels incredible.  

After all the stress of their journey to Georgia and diving right back in to hockey, Jack wants nothing more than to be consumed by Eric.  He sinks into the sensation, letting himself be flattened into the wall, Bitty’s thigh tucked up between his legs, rocking into him gently.  Opening his mouth for more, Jack lets out a groan.  He can feel it reverberating off the glass door, somehow amplified by the heat of the falling water.  

“Please,” Jack manages to say when Bitty stops for breath.

“Please what, baby?” Bitty breathes, panting a mere inch from Jack’s mouth.  He rubs their noses together, catching Jack’s lips with every pass.  It’s clear that he’s sweating, the steam turning their small little cage of bodies into a sauna, but Jack’s never been so turned on in his life.  If he turns his head just so, sticks out his tongue and laps just right, he can catch the taste of Bitty’s sweat.

“Anything,” Jack moans, eyes falling closed.  He tips his head back against the tile and tries to catch his breath.  

Bitty doesn’t let up for one second.  He’s everywhere: nipping at Jack’s jaw, pinching his nipples, rolling his balls in the palm of one hand.  It’s all too much and not nearly enough.

“Please…” Jack tries again, shaking his head from side to side and widening his stance.  “Anything.” There’s water dripping everywhere, but he feels parched.  He licks his lips and finds only steam and sweat.  It’s no relief.

There’s a light touch on his wrist, but it quickly tightens.  Jack can feel Bitty’s thin fingers circle both of his wrists and grip hard, controlling his movements.  In an instant, Bitty’s up on his toes, pinning Jack’s hands to the tile on either side of his head.  The hold is tight, but Jack knows he could throw Eric off easily if he needed to.  

He doesn’t need to.  He doesn’t _want_ to.  Jack doesn’t need anything but for Bitty to keep doing exactly what he’s doing.

“Don’t move,” Eric says against his lips, pressing a hard kiss there before darting away again.  “Can you do that for me, sugar?”

“Ouais,” Jack mutters, eyes clenched tightly closed.  He doesn’t want to get water in his eyes, but beyond that, keeping them closed seems to heighten everything else.  Jack can feel the cool tile where it warms against his knuckles, can hear Bitty’s labored breathing over the steady beat of the water, can taste the sweat on his upper lip, diluted by the steam.

“Of course you can,” Bitty says, voice pitched low.  “You’re so good for me, baby.  Just keep your hands to yourself.  Be good and I won’t stop.”

“Ouais,” Jack says again, rubbing his dry lips together.  He tries to wet them, but there seems to be nothing to quench his thirst and even less oxygen.  

“Good boy,” Bitty says, sliding down Jack’s body and leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along the way.  “So perfect, Jack.”

He tries to cut it off, but a whimper escapes his dry lips.  

“That’s alright, sweetheart,” Bitty purrs, mouth low at Jack’s waist now.  “You can be loud.  No one’s around to hear you but me.  So just let me hear you.”

Jack nods, head knocking back against the tile with the motion.  Bitty chuckles low beneath him.  Before Jack can comment, Eric’s tongue laps at his balls and trails up his shaft.  He spreads his legs instinctively, knowing Bitty will give him what he needs.

Bitty licks around the head of Jack’s dick and as soon as he spreads his thighs there are damp fingers rubbing at his perineum.  “Want me to stretch you open, honey?” Bitty asks before sucking Jack’s head into his mouth.

“Ah!” Jack cries out, hand dropping to Bitty’s hair to hang on.  

Bitty pulls off immediately and stills.  “What did I say, Jack?” he asks, words clipped.

“Uhh,” Jack says, blinking the water out of his eyes so he can look down.  Eric looks incredible on his knees, mouth just a few inches away from Jack’s dick.  He can feel the heat of it, even in the warm water, wants nothing more than to part Bitty’s lips and slip back inside.  After a few seconds, his mind catches up to the rest of his body and he pulls his hand off of Bitty like he’s been burned.

“No touching,” he says simply.

“That’s right,” Bitty says darkly, eyes alight with mischief, lips quirked upward into a wry smirk.  “No touching,” he repeats, getting up from his knees.  He grasps Jack’s wrists again and pushes them up above his head this time, nails scraping at the delicate flesh over his thin blue veins.  “If you can’t keep your hands to yourself, I’ll tie them.”

A shiver runs through Jack at the thought.  He has no idea how Bitty could possibly manage that with them still in the shower, but a small part of him is interested in misbehaving just to find out.

“You like that, don’t you?” Eric asks, biting down on that dimple in his lower lip that Jack can’t get enough of.  He leans in, pressing down on Jack’s wrists until it’s just shy of painful.  “Want me to hold you down and fuck you so slow you can’t stand it?”

Jack’s chest heaves as he meets Bitty’s eyes.  His hands clench into fists and his hole spasms with want; he feels empty without Bitty’s fingers inside, bereft.  When he twists his hands to test the hold, Eric’s nails press into his skin.  Heat pools in Jack’s stomach and a moan escapes him, high-pitched and broken.

“You can tell me,” Bitty says, kissing across Jack’s chest and to the right side of his throat, teeth coming down to nibble on the shell of Jack’s ear.  “Use your words, baby.”

“Want you,” Jack whines, feeling like he’s about to burst.  Desperate tears prickle at the corners of his eyes as his focus narrows down to the sharp points of pressure on his inner wrists and now his left nipple where Bitty mouth has moved.  “Please.”

“Hmm?” Bitty hums around Jack’s deltoid, teeth worrying the skin there.  He’s moving so fast, everywhere at the same time, digging in deep enough that Jack can feel himself being scraped hollow.  His head spins with lust, barely keeping up.

It takes him a second to answer, distracted by Bitty’s sinful mouth and the way it makes a rumble grow in his chest, but eventually Jack manages a response.  “Please,” he pants, still desperate for water, and now too, for Eric’s touch.  “Fuck me.”

“Turn around, sugar,” Bitty says, loosening his grip just enough to let Jack twist under his fingers.

Letting out a deep breath, Jack turns to face the tile, arms twisting to cross above his head.  

“Perfect,” Bitty says, squeezing his wrist tight in reassurance.  “Now don’t move. Stay just like that until I tell you,” he whispers low behind Jack’s ear on his way back to his knees.  

“Tabarnak,” Jack mutters to himself as Bitty trails kisses and bites down the back of his neck and across his shoulder blades.  

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” Bitty says just before licking down the midline of Jack’s back and mouthing at his sides.  “All these muscles you work so hard on, every inch of this perfect skin… all for me.”

“Yours,” Jack breathes, hot against the wall.  He lets out a hint of a whimper when Bitty finally sinks back to the floor, his tongue following the path of his body all the way to the top of his ass and downward still.  

Unable to help himself, Jack widens his stance further.

“I thought I told you not to move,” Bitty warns, hand coming down swiftly to give Jack’s ass a light smack.  

It doesn’t hurt, but it’s just enough to have Jack rocking forward.  He shies away when his overheated dick comes into contact with the wall.  “Fuck, sorry,” he groans, pitching his head forward until it rests against the tile.  His shoulders are tight, muscles flexed as he holds his arms high above his head.

It shouldn’t ache like it does.  Jack’s done far worse at the gym, held himself in planks for minutes on end, completed countless pull-ups, but none of that has ever come close to the tension he holds in his body as he waits for Bitty to touch him.

Bitty massages the sting out of Jack’s ass and then uses both hands to pull Jack’s cheeks apart.  “It’s fine,” Eric says, breath ghosting over Jack’s exposed hole. “If you want to be punished, be my guest… but don’t say I didn’t warn you when your ass is sore for your game tomorrow.”

“Câlisse,” Jack hisses through his teeth at the thought.  He’s tempted, if only to see what it would look like.  He wants to know what it would feel like if Bitty were to keep his word and smack Jack’s ass raw.  It’s equal parts terrifying and thrilling, wondering if he’d be able to skate through the pain, if others would notice.

Jack knows he would hate it, the chirping if the boys were to ever find out what he lets Eric do to him.  That would be too invasive, too embarrassing. But at the same time, Jack loves wearing Bitty’s marks, knowing he’s owned.  He pictures what his ass would look like, purple and bruised, covered in imprints of Bitty’s delicate hands.

All of those thoughts go flying out the window when Bitty’s tongue touches him.  It’s hot and wet and soft as velvet as it laps and laves, flicking in little swirls around his hole.  Bitty takes his time, coaxing Jack’s muscles until they’re pliant and grant him access, pressing in and sucking with his lips every so often until Jack is shivering.

Jack can’t even begin to hold back the noises he’s making, so he stops trying entirely.  His hips jerk against the cold tile every time Bitty thrusts inside and soon there’s a hand there, pointing his dick toward the shower floor and stroking him slowly.  

Eric has trouble holding him open with one hand but makes up for it with enthusiasm.  Jack’s face flushes with a blush when he feels Bitty all but bury himself in his ass, sucking and licking and making what feels like a sloppy mess of him.  He blushes even harder as he imagines spit sliding down his inner thighs, covering Bitty’s chin.

As good as it is—and Jack’s constant stream of curses and spasming muscles are undeniable proof of that—it’s not enough.  He’s hard in Bitty’s hand and enjoying the sensations, but he’s not getting anywhere near orgasm. The heat in his groin stays at a low simmer and soon Bitty has to pull away to get his breath back.  

“God,” Bitty says, rubbing his fingers through the mess of saliva on Jack’s skin.  “Your ass is a gift, baby. I could write poems about it.”

“Shitty already has,” Jack mutters, slowly coming back to his senses.

Another smack comes down on his ass.  Jack grins to himself, arching his back and all but presenting himself for more.  “No talk of other people while I’m touching you.  No thinking about anything but me and what I’m doing to you,” Bitty says sharply, squeezing Jack’s dick right below the head.  

“Ouais,” Jack says in reply, rolling his forehead on the tile and awaiting further instruction.  

“Look at you,” Bitty says, his free hand stroking up and down Jack’s ass and thigh.  “You’re begging for it, aren’t you? You cruisin’ for a spanking, Jack?”

“Ouais,” Jack says again, pushing his ass out toward Eric and doing what he hopes is an enticing wriggle.

“Well, then you’re definitely not getting one,” Bitty teases, pressing two fingers into Jack without warning.  “That’s not how it works.”

“Tabarnak,” Jack moans, pressing back further, chasing the sensation.  He’s never happier than when he’s full to the brim with Bitty.

“I decide when,” Bitty tells him, fingers pounding into Jack, hand flying up and down his shaft in a tight stroke.  “I decide how much. You know why?” he asks, biting down hard on Jack’s ass cheek.

“Ahh,” Jack moans, arms quivering with fatigue.  

“Because I know what you need,” Bitty finishes, not demanding Jack’s response this time.  “I know exactly what you need.”

He must have come into the shower prepared because mere seconds after Bitty wrenches his fingers out of Jack’s hole they’re back, slick this time.  Three slide in easily and Eric drives them deep, honing in on Jack’s prostate and nailing it hard enough that he can feel a little precome jerk out of his dick.  

“Fuck, Eric,” he groans into the wall, turning his head so he can catch a breath of fresh oxygen.  “More. Please.”  The water sputters and cools down slightly, quenching some of the fire on Jack’s skin.  He’s sweating and his muscles burn from holding the same position for so long, but he refuses to move his hands.  Instead, he spreads his fingers and flexes them, trying to give his arms and shoulders a little relief.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” Bitty purrs, spreading his fingers as well until Jack can feel the stretch.  “Tell me.”

“Ah, ah, fuck,” is all Jack can manage with the way Bitty’s rubbing relentlessly at his insides.  

“Use your words, honey,” Bitty tries again, this time pressing down hard against Jack’s prostate, stealing the air from him on purpose.  It’s a vicious game, asking Jack to speak and then making it impossible, but Jack is enjoying it too much to complain.

“Fuck me,” he huffs out, cheek pressed flat against the wall, lips brushing the tile as he speaks.  “Please, fuck me.”

“I’d love to,” Eric says, standing.  He removes his fingers and slicks up his cock.  Jack waits with bated breath, listening to the bottle click closed and drinking in the little moan that escapes Eric when he finally touches his own dick.  Thin, strong fingers grip Jack’s hips and angle him down.  Bitty’s cock nudges at his cheeks but doesn’t quite reach.

Jack groans out loud at the near miss.  He bends his knees and lowers his ass, pushing out from the wall with his crossed palms, desperate to get Bitty where he needs him.  

“Fuck, you’re tall,” Eric whines, one knee coming up to lean beside Jack against the wall as he makes another attempt to press forward.  His dick slides against Jack’s slick hole and misses again.

“Let me,” Jack says, sliding all the way down the wall until he’s on his knees, arms still crossed above his head like Bitty asked.  

“Honey, I love you for trying, but there is no way I’m going to do this on the floor,” Bitty says with a soft laugh.  “Especially not after you hurt your knee.  These tiles would just wreck you.  Get up,” he says, gripping Jack by the elbow.

“Non,” Jack whimpers, jutting his hips back in clear invitation. “Baise-moi.  Baise-moi, s’il te plaît. Me fais pas réclamer.”

“Fuck,” Eric lets out slowly behind him, running a hot hand down the dip of his spine where it’s gone hollow.  “Just give me a second,” he says, taking another deep breath and releasing it slowly as the tension bleeds from his hands.

Jack keens low in his throat, rolling his shoulders and dropping his head back.  The angle is all wrong.  He can’t catch a glimpse of Bitty.  All he can see is his bathroom ceiling, water droplets condensing into patterns above him.

“Stay still,” Eric says into his ear, giving him a hard squeeze on the hip before standing.  The shower door opens and Jack startles as the cool air hits his skin.  It shuts quickly and before he knows it, Bitty is back saying, “Here you go.  Just scootch back a few inches.  There,” he says with an audible smile when Jack complies.

Jack looks down to find himself kneeling on one of the new fluffy towels his mother sent them when she realized Eric would be moving in.  

“You don’t have an ounce of self-preservation when you get like this and one of us has to think of your career,” Bitty says fondly, falling to his knees behind Jack and running his hands down his sides.  “A little rug burn is better than bruised kneecaps.  I can tell you that from experience,” he says.

Jack barely hears the words.  All he can focus on is the tone of Bitty’s voice and the way his thin fingers dig into the meat of his waist, guiding him back up the wall until he’s in position.  Instinctively, Jack arches his back to an almost painful degree and thrusts his hips out, turning his head to the side to catch a glimpse of Eric over his shoulder.

“Now?” he asks, impatience sliding into pleading.  “I need—”

“—I’ve got you, baby,” Eric soothes, sliding two fingers down the midline of his back, between his cheeks, and to his hole, thrusting in, deft and sure.  

“Crisse,” Jack moans, giving up all hope of watching and letting his forehead lean against the tile with a soft thunk.  “More, please.”

“Good Lord, you’re incredible,” Eric says, voice soft and full of wonder as he adds a third finger and pushes deep, brushing Jack’s prostate.  “All this skin, all these muscles, just for me.  I can make it so good for you Jack.  Let me do this.”

He can’t help the pained whimper that escapes his lips.  Jack feels like he’s been waiting months for this, coiled tight as a spring, desperate for Eric’s touch.  “Tabarnak,” he groans, frustrated and needy when Bitty pulls his fingers free.

Then there’s the blunt pressure of Eric’s dick pushing into him, slick and hot, tight and perfect, and Jack’s hands clench into fists, holding tension, pressing against the tile to give him that little bit of leverage.  

“You’re so perfect, Jack,” Eric says, voice steady even as his hips stutter to a halt, tucked up tight against Jack’s ass.  “Such a good boy, holding so still for me.”

“Please,” Jack whines, breath catching in his throat as Bitty swivels his hips.  “Fuck me.”

“Is this how you want it?” he asks, barely giving Jack time to adjust before he’s withdrawing and then slamming back in full force.  

There’s nothing for Jack to cling to, nothing to stop his cheek from being flattened against the tile as Bitty pounds into him with unrelenting speed and precision.  He can feel it in his teeth, all the way down to his toes that are bumping against the shower floor, lifeless and numb.

“Ouais,” Jack gasps, dry throat clicking.  “Plus fort.”

“I swear I’m going to learn French one of these days,” Eric growls through clenched teeth, snapping his hips sharp and steady.  

Jack moans, the noise reverberating off the hot tile, loud and shameless.  If he tilts his hips up just so, Eric’s cock nails his prostate every time.  He presses back, grinding into it when Eric bottoms out, taking him as deeply as he can.

“Fuck,” Bitty says behind him.   “I’m not going to last.”

“Je m’en fous,” Jack babbles, unaware that Eric has no hope of understanding him.  “Fais-le. Vas-y. S’il te plaît, Eric!”

“You first, baby,” Bitty argues, reading his tone and body language.  

Jack is tight as a bowstring, unrelenting tremors running down his body.  He hasn’t been so wound up in ages. It just now dawns on him how long it’s been since Eric has done this, how he hasn’t felt full for weeks, since before Eric’s accident.  The thought hits him like a shot, wracking his body with frissons of electricity.

“You need help, don’t you,” Eric says, more to himself than to Jack, because he doesn’t wait for a response.  Before Jack is done parsing the words, a hand reaches for him, hotter than the water and more effective than Jack’s has ever been.  

Bitty’s movements are quick and relentless, beating him off with such surety it steals the breath from Jack’s lungs.  In seconds, he’s overcome, squirming under the onslaught.  It’s all too much, Bitty’s dick hard and thick, pounding into him at just the right angle, Bitty’s hand slick with lube, squeezing just under his head like a vice.  Even Jack’s position adds a frenetic energy to the scene.  His arms shake with the effort to stay exactly where Bitty left them, his mouth is open and dry, teeth clicking against the tile every few thrusts when his muscles give out and he doesn’t have the strength to hold his face up for air anymore.  

“Come on, honey,” Bitty mutters, leaning in to speak directly into Jack’s ear.  “You can do it. I’ve got you.”

Jack wants to come.  He’s never wanted anything more, in fact, but his body isn’t cooperating.  Everything is hard and tight but no matter what Eric does, the tension isn’t snapping.  “I—” he starts to whine, blinking tears and sweat out of his eyes.  “I don’t think—”

“I know, I know,” Eric says, dropping his dick to wrap a hand around his hip instead.  “You need more.  It’s okay,” he adds, cooing to Jack, soothing him.  “It’s alright, baby.  I know what to do.”

“Please, I—”

“—I know,” Eric repeats like a mantra.  “Just a little bit more and you’re going to paint this tile for me, aren’t you, Jack?”

The sound of his name coming out of Eric’s mouth is enough to have Jack whining, tossing his head from side to side as Eric picks up a punishing rhythm.  

“You’re overheated, aren’t you, honey?” Bitty asks, gripping his hips with both hands now, making Jack bounce against him in quick, hard thrusts.  “All this water in here and you’re just parched.  It’s humid like Georgia in July in here, isn’t it,” he goes on, working Jack up with that slow southern drawl.  

“I bet you could just pass out,” Eric says, pulling Jack against him over and over again, still somehow hard and patient.  “You’d go slack like a rag doll and just keep bouncing on my dick, wouldn’t you, Jack?” he teases, leaning in to nip at Jack’s shoulder.  

It sounds especially dirty coming out of Eric’s mouth in his sweet accent, but that only makes Jack want it more.

“You’ve come so hard you’ve passed out before,” Eric says, slowing his hips down to a measured drag across Jack’s prostate.  “You drenched me in come and then you went limp in my arms.  Like I just fucked the fight right out of you.”

Jack nods, whimpering at the slow, rough slide of it, his hole clinging to Bitty like he needs it to live.  

“Want me to do it again?” Eric says, dark and rich in his ear.

“Ouais,” Jack breathes, panting.  “Eric,” he pleads, the word coming out of him in a low whine.  

“I’ve got you, honey,” he says and pecks Jack’s shoulder with a quick kiss before finishing strong.  Abandoning his hips, Bitty’s hands find new homes, one flat against Jack’s lower abdomen, right above his dick, the other over his mouth, thumb and pointer finger pinching his nose.  “Come for me, Jack,” Eric says, low and rough, pulling Jack’s head back to lean on his shoulder.

The hand on his stomach is strong, pulling him back onto Bitty’s cock like he’s leading him to the ending of a slow dance.  Eric’s hips roll and hitch, never leaving the swell of Jack’s ass and soon, his vision is blurring, bright spots exploding in front of his eyes.  He tries to take in a breath, but Bitty’s hand is there.  The tension in his lungs builds, cresting into a sharp pain that finally erupts.

For several seconds, Jack feels frozen, suspended in air, hanging on the precipice, but then it slams into him.  Bitty’s hand digs into his stomach and he spasms in his grasp, jerking himself free of Eric’s hand.  His fingers unclench and scramble against the tile for purchase as Eric presses a forearm across his shoulders and rams into him, one, two, three more times before stilling.

A minute passes, Eric still twitching inside him as he softens, his breath short and raspy in Jack’s ear.  Eventually, it evens out and Bitty removes his arm, allowing Jack to pull his face off the tile.  “Fuck,” is all Eric manages to say, his voice shaking with exhaustion.  

“Fuck,” Jack says back, emphatically, his arms still glued to the tile above his head, shoulders tight and neck sore.

“Oh God,” Bitty says, pulling his hips away until he slides out of Jack.  “Are you alright?”

“I think so?” Jack answers, repeatedly licking his lips, trying to wet his parched throat.  

“Fuck, honey,” Bitty says, hands trailing up Jack’s arms, soft and gentle.  “You—you can move. I’m sorry, I should have said—”

“—It’s alright,” Jack replies, rolling his shoulders as Bitty’s thin fingers start digging into the sore muscles.  “I wanted to.”

“You wanted to?” Bitty asks, a tinge of awe in his voice as he continues to massage the stiffness out of Jack’s back and arms.  

Jack ducks his head, already feeling the heat rush to his face.  “I like doing what you tell me to.  It makes me feel…” he trails off, searching for the words.  Nothing sounds right in his head.  There’s nothing big enough to describe everything that Eric does to him.  

“Good?” he asks, hopeful.  

“Better than good, I promise,” Jack assures him, tilting his head back to press a kiss to Bitty’s frowning lips.  

“You’re sure?” he asks as soon as Jack pulls away.  “It’s not too much?”

“I’m not sure ‘too much’ is in my vocabulary, but I’ll tell you if we ever get there.”

“You promise?”

“Of course, I do,” Jack says with a what feels like a doofy smile on his face.  “As far as I’m concerned, though, I’ll never have enough of you.”

“You sound awfully smug for someone who just came so hard he almost chipped a tooth on the wall.”

“I did not,” Jack protests.  He’s pretty sure Bitty’s hand was over his mouth at that point.

“It was a near thing once you started thrashing around like a catfish in a net,” Bitty says, dragging his palms through Jack’s hair from forehead to nape in a soothing gesture.  “How do you suppose I’d go about explaining that to your model mother?”  He puts on a breathy voice and does a spot-on impression of himself.  “I’m sorry ma’am,” he titters, fanning himself.  “I tried to warn him but he just kept telling me to fuck him and what’s a sweet little Georgia peach to do?  I’ll have him wear a mouthguard next time?  How about that? Gotta keep that cover page smile intact.”

“Stop it,” Jack says, blushing again.  

“Oh sure,” Eric teases, “you can take praise during sex like it’s going out of style but heaven forbid I tell you how pretty you are outside the bedroom.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Jack asks, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Don’t you dare, Mister Zimmermann,” Eric says, playfully swatting at him.  “No fishing for compliments.  Not when I just spent the better part of twenty minutes worshiping your ass.”

“I suppose you did,” Jack says, smiling to himself again.  

“Now let me get you cleaned up before someone—”

“—must be around here somewhere,” Mama’s voice echoes off the closed bathroom door.  “Those boys take more showers than an umbrella in London, I swear.”

“Fuck,” Eric sighs, letting his head fall forward into the tile with a thunk.  “Let’s hope your daddy found her a place to live or I might break a few more commandments before the day is through.”

Jack laughs freely, rinsing them both with the shower head once more before killing the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> “Baise-moi. Baise-moi, s’il te plaît. Me fais pas réclamer.”  
> "Fuck me. Fuck me, please. Don't make me beg."
> 
> "Plus fort"  
> "Harder"
> 
> “Je m’en fous,” Jack babbles, unaware that Eric has no hope of understanding him. “Fais-le. Vas-y. S’il te plaît, Eric!”  
> "I don't care." "Do it. Come on. Please, Eric!"


	4. Chapter 4

Later that night when they’ve had dinner and done the washing up, Suzanne finally heads to bed.  They’re snuggled up on the couch watching some show Bitty insisted he needed to re-watch before seeing the new episodes when there’s a soft knock at the door.  

“Boys?” Maman’s voice calls from behind them.  “Are you decent?”

“You try to have kitchen sex one time and it’s like the whole world hears about it,” Eric sighs, burying his face in Jack’s neck.

“It’s open,” Jack calls softly over his head.  

“You should really lock this,” Papa says as he closes the door behind them.  “All it takes is one crazed fan and you’ll have to move.”

“We have a doorman,” Jack says, shrugging.

“Leonard is a hundred years old, mon ange,” Maman says, shaking her head.  “You have to help him out a little.”

“Eric makes him cookies all the time,” Jack insists.  

“His wife said she’d be my new assistant once I get my vlog up and running again,” Eric says, eyes still on the TV.  “She knows how to do all these little Russian tea cakes.  I think we’re going to do an episode on petit fours.”

“Will you make macarons?” Maman asks immediately.  “I’ve always wanted to learn how to make macarons.”

“Well,” Bitty says, sitting up with a smile.  “Why don’t we do a little tutorial on them, then?  I’m sure that my viewers would love to see you.”

“I think they’d like to see Jack more,” Maman counters.

“You know I’m a disaster in the kitchen, Maman.  I’m not gentle enough.  My hands are too big.”

“Oh hush,” Bitty says, patting him on the arm.  “You do just fine.  You’re great at following directions.”

Jack fights back a blush by changing the topic.  “You’re going to need some equipment for that, right?  A camera and a laptop?  We could go shopping tomorrow—”

“I can do it with my phone just fine,” Bitty insists, but Maman cuts him off.

“—Don’t even try, Eric,” she says, frowning.  “We all know you need editing software and a tripod.  Don’t you want your new premiere episode to be perfect?”

“I suppose I could use a few things…” he agrees reluctantly.  “But nothing too expensive.”

“We can go tomorrow after we pick out a new car,” Jack offers, a smile on his face.

“You are not buying me a car, sweetpea.  We’ve been over this.”

“I’m not buying you a new car,” Jack says, remembering what Tater told him earlier that day.  “I’ve decided I need a new car.  It’s for me,” he says plainly, shooting for nonchalance.  “You like the truck better anyway, don’t you?  Isn’t that what you drove back in Georgia?”

“Well, that’s true but—”

“—Then you take the truck and I’ll get something for myself.  Something that’s better for the environment.  Maybe one of those little Prius things?”

“Bob, please,” Bitty says, a pleading look on his face.  “Please tell your son he cannot drive a Prius.  He won’t even fit in one.”

“We’ll get him a Tesla,” Bob says knowingly.  “I’ve been wanting to test drive one anyway.”

“Perfect,” Bitty says.

“I don’t need anything fancy,” Jack groans.  “Everyone is going to see me coming a mile away.  What if I just get a Camry or something?”

“Tell me you’re not serious,” Bitty says, lips pursed.  

“How are Tater and Snowy and Marty and the rest of the guys supposed to fit in a Tesla thing with me?  We’re all over 6 feet,” Jack says.

“You’d probably fit better in a minivan, eh?” Papa teases, laughing lightly.  

“Then I’ll just get one of those.”

“You will not drive a dad van,” Bitty says, smacking him on the shoulder.  “Promise me!”

“It’s either that or I keep the truck and you let me buy you a new car.”

“Good one,” Papa mutters.

“That’s blackmail,” Bitty huffs.

“Not blackmail.  Negotiation,” Jack shoots back, eyebrows raised.  They stare at each other for a long moment, Maman and Papa snickering the entire time.  

Bitty breaks first.  “I’ll take the truck,” he says, arms folded across his chest.  “I wouldn’t trust myself with something new anyway.  Not with the weather y’all get up here.  We can pick out something for you that doesn’t make me cringe tomorrow.”

“Deal,” Jack says, holding out his hand for Eric to shake.

Papa is laughing freely now, wiping tears from under his eyes.  

Bitty shoots daggers at him and then turns his eyes back to Jack.  They’re dark and fierce.  It’s the kind of look that Jack gets right before Bitty smacks his ass.  They might have only had sex a few hours ago, but Jack knows that look.  Jack _loves_ that look.  He’s proven right when Eric turns back to his parents and asks, “Not that we don’t love having y’all here twice in one day, but did you have a reason for dropping by again?”

“We did, yes,” Papa says, standing up and heading back to the front door.  When he returns, he’s carrying something heavy, a large black canvas bag that looks a little worse for the wear.

“Oh my God,” Bitty says, a shocked hand flying up to cover his mouth.  “Is that what I think it is?”

“The police called today so I swung by to pick them up for you,” Papa says, setting the bag down gently in Eric’s lap.  

Ever so carefully, Bitty lowers his hand and his fingers go for the zip.  It takes him a slow, agonizing minute, but eventually, he has the bag open and can pull out one of his skates.  Removing the blade cover from it, Bitty inspects the boot and then the blade with shaking hands, in utter disbelief.  “How?” is all he can muster.

“It’s not important,” Maman says softly, laying a hand on Bitty’s knee.  “If it’s going to upset you, we don’t have to talk about it.  They’re in custody and they won’t be getting out for a very long time.”

“How long?” Jack asks before he can stop himself.  He needs to know how long the fear of retaliation will be hanging over their heads.  

“It’s looking like fifteen to twenty,” Papa says, voice firm and sharp, leaving no room for question.  “Your statement and the photographs of your injuries are proof enough.  You won’t have to testify.  I’ll make sure of that.”

“I can’t believe I—”

“You’ve got everything you need now, eh?” Jack says, pulling Eric into a hug when his eyes well up with tears.  “Going to take that Providence skate club by storm as soon as Katya gets here.  You’re going to light the world on fire in these, bud,” he whispers into Eric’s hair.   

“I—” Bitty tries again as soon as his breathing has evened out.  “Could I have a minute alone?” he asks.

“Of course,” Jack says, standing up and pressing a kiss to Eric’s forehead before shepherding his parents out of the room.  “I’ll go get everyone a slice of that pie you made, okay?”

“Thank you, sugar,” Bitty says and then drops his eyes back down to his lap where his skates are sitting.  

“Is he going to be okay?” Maman asks quietly as soon as they’re out of earshot.

“I think so,” Jack says, opening a cabinet to find some dessert plates.  “He’s a fighter.”

“That man is stronger than the rest of us put together,” Papa says, smiling fondly.  “To live like he did?  Leave home like he did?  Leave his family?  I couldn’t have done it.  None of us could have.”

“Maybe so,” Maman says, helping Jack find the pie server, “but he still needs support.  It’s got to be hard to put on a brave face all the time.  Everyone deserves the chance to fall apart every once in a while.  You’re good at doing that… making it okay for him to grieve.”

“I think I should…” Jack says, motioning toward the living room.

“Let me,” Papa says, squeezing Jack’s shoulder before exiting the kitchen.  

“I don’t know what Papa did to get the police to agree to those terms, but I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know,” Jack says, shaking his head as he heads back to the fridge for a gallon of milk.  

“He can be scary when he has to be,” Maman agrees with a chuckle.  “They called him Bad Bob for a reason.”

“I heard he got the lawsuit with West thrown out as well,” Jack says, grateful for once that his dad seems to have such influence over the general public, can afford the best lawyers.

“That suit was frivolous and they never should have involved you in it,” Maman says, shaking her head.  “You could counter sue him for all the trouble he’s caused you if you really wanted.”

“No, thank you,” Jack says quickly.  “I’ll make sure to tell George to add that into my talking points for when it comes up.  I don’t want anything to do with that man ever again.  I’m so glad all that is over with.”

“It won’t be the last time someone harasses you, sweetheart,” Mama says with a sad smile.  “You’ve got to protect yourself and that beautiful boy in there.  He’s more fragile than he looks.”

“I know,” Jack says, looking to the doorway and wondering when it might be time to step in.

After a moment, the room falls into silence and Jack figures it’s time to eat.  He stacks two of the plates up his arm and then lifts the last two about to head back to the living room when Maman catches his arm.  

“Give them a minute,” she says, gesturing for Jack to put down his burden.  “I think…” she trails off, stepping lightly toward the entrance to the living room with a finger to her lips.

Jack narrows his eyes, not understanding what she’s playing at.  

She waves him over, pointing to the floor beside her and shushing him again.  “Listen,” she says into his ear once he’s close.

“—I know I can’t re—” Papa stumbles over his words and then tries again.  “I know you’re a grown man and you don’t need anyone looking out for you anymore,” he says, tone hushed.  “You don’t need to be told how to live your life, and you know how to love and treat someone right.  I’ve seen that already.”

Bitty makes a soft noise at that, but Papa cuts him off to speak again.  

“No, really.  How you care for Jack—you’re more than Alicia and I could ever have hoped for.  But that’s not the point.  What I’m trying to say is… if you ever need—if there’s ever something that you wish your father would have helped you with, advice you would have asked for, support you would have needed, I just hope you’ll feel like you can come to me.”

Jack strains to hear, but Bitty’s voice is too low for him to make out the words.  Still, Maman’s hand is clenched tight around his wrist and they share a nameless look.

“Well, that’s all I wanted you to know, I guess.  Whatever you need me for, I’m here for you.  For you and for Jack.  I can’t replace your father, and I wouldn’t want to bring up any bad memories for you, but if there’s anything I can do, I want to do it.”

Jack holds his breath, praying he’ll be able to hear Bitty’s response.  Papa isn’t one for emotional displays, and this is already more than Jack could have expected from him.  It feels right, for Papa to welcome Eric into the family like this, fully and completely, before there’s even a ring on his finger.  

Just as he’s about to ask Maman if it’s time to rejoin them, Eric’s small voice calls out.  “Papa?” he asks, causing the man’s footsteps to halt and then turn around.  “There is one thing I could use help with…”

“Anything, mon petit fils,” Papa replies, voice audibly shaking.  

“I’d like to learn how to speak French.  To surprise Jack.  Do you think you could teach me?”

“That accent is going to be trouble, mon fils,” Papa chuckles, letting out a sigh.  

 “I know, it’s awful.”

 “It’s not awful,” Papa says, reassuringly.  “It’s you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. everyone! Thanks for hanging out with me! The baby kicked my laptop off my stomach while I was posting this chapter, in case you were wondering, lol! Maybe they didn't like this chapter! But I hope you did!


	5. Chapter 5

In the end, Jack ends up with a Range Rover because Bitty loves the sunroof and the stereo is the loudest.  It has a third row that Jack tests himself by climbing in the back and making Bitty drive him around the parking lot.  He also gets Eric a sleek little laptop with editing software and a whole recording setup complete with camera, microphone, and several different light kits.  

They spend Jack’s day off setting everything up and recording an introduction to Jack’s kitchen.  Bitty goes through the drawers and finds that Jack is missing some essentials including home decor, which prompts a second shopping trip to Home Goods and Pottery Barn.  By the time they get home, Jack has a foolproof plan for getting Bitty to pick things out for their home.

It turns out that all Jack has to do is say something like, “I think we should get one of those round stool things that you can put your stuff in?  Like blankets for when you get cold?”

“Are you talking about an ottoman?” Bitty would ask, a look of mild shock on his face.

“What’s an ottoman?” Jack would ask, expressionless.

“Do not play dumb with me, Mister Zimmermann.  I don’t buy your ‘Help, I’m Canadian,’ routine.”

“But did you like the blue one or the brown one?  The brown one was kind of furry? I don’t know how I feel about that,” Jack would say, and then repeat for every item that he thinks might bring a little bit of Bitty’s lightness into their living space.

By the time their day is over, Jack can look at any corner of any room of the house and know in his soul that Bitty lives here, that he isn’t just a guest.  Eric has touched every single inch of the condo and made it a home.

It’s not until they’re lying on the couch later that evening, watching yet another episode of Gilmore Girls, that Bitty voices his opinion.  “Jack?” he asks, pulling his head off of Jack’s chest so he can look at him. “Are you sure you’re okay with your condo looking so…”

“So… what?” Jack asks, looking around.  He doesn’t see anything wrong with it. Maybe he could ask Lardo for a few more pieces to adorn the blank spaces on the walls, but other than that, it looks perfect.

“Gay?”

“Um,” Jack says, tilting his head as he comes up with more words.  “I’m…” he begins but struggles with the terminology. “We’re… you’re—we’re gay,” he says finally.

“Well, yeah,” Eric says, waving his hand around the room.  “But that doesn’t mean you need to cover your walls in sequins and signs with puns about jam on them.”

“I like puns,” Jack says dully.  

“I just think maybe you let me go a little overboard.  There’s a Beyoncé poster up in your bathroom.”

“Is it like sacrilegious for her to watch me pee or something?”

“I don’t think so, no,” Eric says, a bemused look on his face.  

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I just kind of feel like I took over,” Bitty says, biting his lower lip.  “I know I fit a lot of stereotypes and I can tone it down a little bit.”

“What did we say about that?” Jack says, sitting up straight to look Bitty in the eye.  “No more hiding. Don’t tone it down. Dial it up.”

“I know, but—”

“—No buts,” Jack says, shaking his head and reaching for the remote to pause the TV.  “I know I’ve said this before but I don’t mind saying it again. I am not ashamed of you.  I never have been.”

Jack catches Bitty’s hand away from where he’s biting his nails and brings it to his chest.  “This is not just my condo anymore. It’s your home, too. And I like how we decorated it. I think there’s just one thing missing and then it’ll be perfect.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?” Eric asks, letting out a dark laugh of disbelief.

“There aren’t any photos of us.”

“Have you—” Bitty hesitates, eyes questioning.  “Do you have any good ones?”

“A few, but I think we could take more,” Jack says, taking his phone off the new ottoman and scrolling through it to find his favorites folder.  “I’d like to take some of you skating with my good camera.”

“Jack,” Eric sighs fondly.  

“You know how when you go to a married couple’s house and they have all these photos up of when they were younger and family vacations and special events through the years and they always look so happy and you can tell as soon as you walk in whose house you are in and how much they love each other?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, I want our place to feel like that,” Jack says simply, smiling up at Eric.  “I know we haven’t been together that long, but we have to start somewhere. So I’m going to order a few nice frames and then you can help me pick out your favorite photos and decide where to hang them.”

“You really want that?” Bitty asks, eyes wide.

“Of course I do,” Jack says, taking Eric’s hand again to kiss his knuckles.  “I have a few already of the Haus and the Samwell crew, even my parents and me as a kid in my dad’s Habs jersey, but you are so important to me and yet you aren’t represented here.  I want you up on the wall with all the other things that I love. Okay?”

Eric stares at him, licking his lips.  He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes briefly and then opens them again on the exhale before saying, “Okay.”

 

* * *

 

“You can’t be serious,” Bitty howls as soon as Jack comes in the door.  

“What?” he asks, squinting at Eric.  He hasn’t seen him in three days. A roadie took him to the Midwest, but he only has one more string of away games before the regular season is over.  If they can keep up their winning streak, they’ll get a week off before he’s due back for the playoffs.

“What are those?” Bitty squawks, pointing at Jack’s feet.

“Oh, they’re new.  Do you like them?” Jack asks, twisting his ankle in the air so Bitty can get a good look at his new neon yellow Crocs.  

“They’re an affront to humanity,” Eric says, face contorted in disgust.  “I’m going blind just looking at them,” he adds, shielding his eyes. “You can probably see those things from space.”

“That was kind of the point,” Jack says, picking up his laundry bag and heading to the washer.  “I was sick of losing my bus shoes, so I got the brightest color I could find. Now if Thirdy steals them from the locker room, everyone will know whose they are.”

“They’re wretched,” Bitty says, crossing his arms over his chest when Jack goes in for a kiss.  “Tell me that’s the only pair.”

“Well, they were buy one get one free,” Jack says, blinking stupidly up at Eric and frowning at the rejection.  “So I got some green ones as well. For the shower, you know?”

“Take them off,” Bitty says, poking Jack in the chest with one finger.  “Take them off right now before I gouge my eyes out! Put on some real shoes.  We’re going shopping.”

“Really?” Jack asks, trying to play it cool.  “Let me just put on my running gear and we can head down to the water.”

“Do not put on those yellow sneakers!  So help me God I will start putting sugar in your smoothies!” Bitty shouts after him.  

A few hours later, Jack hums to himself as he takes Bitty’s new sweater off a store hanger and folds it carefully.  Maman taught him early on how to care for his clothes and avoid the dreaded shoulder dimples in knit items. He’s always found the repetition of laundry comforting.  It’s one of the reasons he hasn’t hired anyone to clean his place or help with household chores.

Eric’s music filters through the hall toward the bedroom as Jack shakes out each new piece of clothing and finds places for them among their things.  He smiles when he finds a tight pair of rainbow athletic leggings in a shopping bag and rolls them up to fit them in the drawer next to Bitty’s shorts collection.  

As he reaches into the bottom of the closet for the hamper, Jack’s happy to see tiny, brightly colored briefs mixed in with his tee shirts and sweatpants.  Holding the basket to his hip, Jack heads back to the living room to find Eric studying a figure skating routine on YouTube while Katy Perry blares from the stereo.  

He’s not sure what Maman expected his future to be when she’d taught him how to pre-treat stains and separate colors when he was back in pee-wee hockey, but as he measures out detergent, Eric bobbing his head to the beat in his periphery, he thinks it probably looked something a little like this.

 

* * *

 

A few days before Easter, Jack finally has a free day and spends the majority of it doing laundry and watching tape while Eric writes scripts for his next few vlog episodes.  He’s seated at the table tapping a pencil against a notepad and humming along to the radio when there’s a knock at the door.

Jack springs up, eager to leave his seat on the couch before a permanent dent forms and looks through the peephole to find an older woman with her brown hair pulled back into a severe-looking bun.

“Hello?” Jack asks, peering through the partially opened door.  “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Eric Bittle,” she says, words precise but heavily accented.  “The man at the door told me I could come up.”

Immediately, Jack’s face splits into a smile.  “You must be Katya. I’m Jack,” he adds, holding out a hand.  “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for a long time now.  Please come in.”

“Thank you,” she says, pulling a rolling suitcase in behind her.  As soon as she catches a glimpse of Eric, she straightens her back and calls, “Zvyozdochka!”   

Eric startles so violently, Jack has to laugh.  In a flash, he’s up out of his seat and standing in front of Katya, shoulders back and eyes twinkling.  

“You’re too skinny,” she says, narrowing her eyes.  She gives another command and Eric quickly raises his arms out to his sides for inspection.  “What happened to your muscles, zaichik? You forget how to use arms since I last see you? Eat only pie and chocolate.”

“I’ve been pushing for protein,” Jack says, fighting back a smile.  “But unless it comes in a pie crust, good luck getting him to eat it.”

“You listen to boyfriend, Eric.  He,” she says, gesturing to Jack, “look like athlete.  You,” she frowns, circling him. “You lost your quads somewhere and finding them again is going to hurt.”

“I’ve been doing all the doctors said I was allowed to do,” Eric protests, dropping his arms and shooing Katya away from her inspection of his ass.  

“I your doctor now,” Katya says, crossing her arms.  “Now show me what happened.”

With a huff of exasperation, Eric removes his shirt and looks down.  There’s no need to point out his injuries. They’re still red on his skin, even though he applies scar cream religiously.

“Show me your double tours,” she says, clapping her hands together.

“I don’t even have my shoes on,” Eric says, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms.

“Do I look like I care?”

Jack stifles a laugh.  Eric definitely has his work cut out for him.  He’s dying to see how fast Katya manages to whip him into shape.  

With another sigh, Eric straightens himself into a ballet position and propels himself into the air, spinning with his arms circled out in front of him.  He does it three times, panting as he lands.

“Again,” Katya says, stepping forward to adjust his posture.  “Five this time.”

“Kill me,” Bitty mutters under his breath.

“You left without saying goodbye,” Katya snaps back.  “This is punishment.”

Properly chastised, Bitty nods and straightens his back, starting to spin again.  When he’s completed five double turns, he ends in a bow and then slides to one knee on the ground.

“Needs work,” Katya says, arms crossed over her chest.  But after a beat, her face softens and she steps closer to Eric, petting a hand through his hair and then cupping his chin.  She tilts his face up to look at him and her lips twitch into a smile. “You grew up handsome, zvyozdochka. Strong. I’ve missed you.”

“Me too,” Eric all but whispers, tears welling up in his eyes.  

“This will be hard work for you,” Katya says, face serious once more.  “But you are serious about the Olympics, yes?”

“Absolutely,” Eric says, rising to his feet.

“And you will not interfere?” she asks Jack.

“He’ll probably be there himself, Katya.  Jack is a professional athlete. He knows how much work this will be and he’s going to support me every step of the way, right sugar?”

“Definitely,” Jack says.  There’s nothing that would stop him from helping Eric reach his dreams.  “I can’t wait to watch Eric compete. Watching him skate is the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Good,” Katya says with a sharp nod and then goes to the door to pull some papers out of her briefcase.  “You sign these. You train at the Pawtucket club and the season starts July 1st. Philadelphia summer international on the 30th.  You think you’ll be ready?”

“He’ll be ready,” Jack says, handing Eric his shirt and heading to the table to look over the paperwork.  “Just let me know how early you need to be there and I’ll take care of everything.”

“I like this one, zvyozdochka,” Katya says with an approving look.  “You keep him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just barely survived our baby shower with my sanity intact and we have another one back in my homeland in a month. I'm going to attempt (for the third year in a row) Camp NaNo this April to see if I can knock out the end of this fic, but I've never managed to complete a camp project before, so I'm not making any promises!


	6. Chapter 6

“I don’t know, Jack,” Bitty says exasperatedly, pulling his bow tie free with one hand.  “I think maybe you had the right idea about praying to Señor Bun. That was just awful.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” Jack says, holding the door open for Mama to enter behind him.

“They were looking at you like you were the goose that laid the golden egg,” Mama agrees with a sigh.

Bitty kicks off his shoes without bothering to untie them.  They make sad, muffled thuds against the wall and then land haphazardly several feet from the shoe rack.  “And the last place was even worse!  Who takes photos of someone putting money in the donation basket?  They were just after your fame and your money, sweetpea.”

“I heard the preacher sayin’ they could put your name in the bulletin to drum up their attendance numbers.”

“That’s just disgusting,” Bitty agrees readily.  “Religion is not a spectator sport.”

“I really don’t mind,” Jack tries, hoping to ease the tension.  The last thing he wants is to be the thing that stands between Eric and his reconciliation with God.  

“I mind,” Eric says sharply.  “It’s Easter Sunday and all they can think about is how they can use us in their next advertising campaign.  I’m sick of it, and I’m not going to let it happen again.”

“Did you want to try that United Church of whatever?  It was over by Brown.”

Eric shakes his head, a sour expression on his face.  “I don’t think so, sweetpea.  I think maybe it’s time to give up on finding a place.  At least for now.”

“You can’t mean that,” Suzanne says, removing her floral Easter bonnet.  “Just because the last few places have been less than ideal—”

“Less than ideal?” Bitty repeats incredulously.  “Mama, they were on him like grease on a pig.  That just ain’t what Jesus would have wanted.”

“I really didn’t mind,” Jack tries to insist, even if it isn’t exactly true.  “We can try a few other places.”

“No, Jack,” Bitty says, sliding his arms out of his blazer and tossing it to the couch.  “I’ve had it.  I give up.  If these are the people that are calling themselves Christians these days, I want nothing to do with them.”

“So you’re just going to quit your whole faith?  Just because it’s hard?” Suzanne argues, hands on her hips.  

In her Easter dress, clutching her hat and scowling, Suzanne’s anger startles Jack.  He’s never seen this side of her before—finds himself having trouble wrapping his head around the situation as she and Eric continue to disagree.

“You don’t have to be so dramatic about it.  It’s not like I’m gonna become an atheist overnight.  I just need a break from looking over my shoulder during the sermon to see if someone has a camera on us.”

“Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven,” Suzanne recites easily.

“I don’t think that’s quite what Jesus meant, Mama.  And Jack and I have been persecuted enough for the next ten people.”

“And how exactly would you know what Jesus meant?  It’s not like you’ve been to bible study recently.”

“When exactly did you expect me to go, Mama?  I didn’t have much time between begging for food and sleeping on park benches.  Maybe I should have asked one of the men who took me home if they had a bible in the nightstand drawer instead of condoms!”  Eric is fuming, chest heaving, nostrils flaring.

Jack isn’t sure he’s ever seen him so angry.  Usually Bitty keeps the details of his homeless years close to the vest.  Jack never expected him to fling them at his mother like daggers to the heart, though he must admit the confession was probably worth it.  Suzanne looks like she’s trying to swallow glass.

“That’s—I didn’t mean—Dicky…”

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven,” Eric recites, eyes shining with angry tears.

Jack is so confused.  He looks between Bitty and Suzanne like he’s watching a game of ping pong.  

“Dicky, please—”

“—Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness,” he cuts her off, voice breaking over the words.  

There’s more to it than that.  Jack knows there is.  He longs to step in and finish the line, but his family has never been that religious.  He’s been to church more in the last month than he has in the last ten years combined.

The silence goes on for ages.  Suzanne seems to have lost her steam.  She too is fighting back tears, chewing on her lower lip like Eric often does when he’s searching for words.  

Eventually, Bitty takes a deep breath and finishes his thought.  

“Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall have their fill.  I know the beatitudes, Mama.  I know each and every one because I’ve lived them.  You think I haven’t been persecuted?  You think I haven’t been hungry or thirsty or poor?  You think I haven’t been alone and scared and just fucking waiting for someone to intervene, because surely Christians wouldn’t leave one of their own out in the cold?  Excuse me for thinking God should have taken better care of me than that—for thinking _you_ should have taken better care of me than that.”

Jack can see Suzanne flinch as the words hit their mark.

Bitty’s voice grows weary as he says, “Maybe I’ll get to heaven one day and maybe I’ll be shown mercy and maybe I’ll even see God, but today is not that day.  Right now I’m tired and I’m fed up and I need a break.”

“I think you’ve made your point,” Suzanne says, tossing her hat on the couch and slumping her shoulders.

“I don’t think I have,” Eric says, stepping forward, hands on his hips.  “I want to be very clear about this.”  He takes a breath, straightening his back and closing his eyes.  When he opens them, his face is clear of the tight-lipped grimace of a few minutes ago.  “Religion is supposed to be a comfort.  It’s somewhere to go when you need help, somewhere you should feel accepted and loved.  If it doesn’t feel like that, there’s something wrong with the religion, not with me.  There is nothing wrong with me—nothing wrong with Jack and _nothing_ wrong with our relationship.  We’re not something to be gawked at or manipulated and we’re definitely not something dirty and evil to curse and scream about.”

“I know you’re not,” Suzanne says, voice small and conciliatory.

“I’m not saying I’ll never go back, but right now, church is just a source of stress that we don’t need.  I know it’s Jesus’ day and all that, and I’m still gonna make a rack of lamb and dye some eggs, but as for the rest of it?  I think Jesus’ll understand that we need a break.  I just need a little bit of a break,” he finishes weakly, huffing out a heavy exhale.  “Now, why don’t you change into something else and we’ll get started on some jam. ”

Suzanne nods, swallowing down any further argument before heading toward the guest room.

“Are you okay?” Jack asks, reaching out to place a steadying hand on the small of Eric’s back.  

“Nothing says love like fighting over the gospel,” Bitty says with a dark laugh.  

“I have to admit, I didn’t really follow any of that.”

“It’s okay, sugar,” Eric says, turning in Jack’s arms and locking his fingers around the back of his neck.  It’s a stretch, but Eric lifts onto his tiptoes easily, a movement born out of habit.  “I’m just going to slip out of this shirt and into an apron and then we can get to the jam making.”

“Are you going to have anything under that apron, or…”

“Was your mind in the gutter the whole time we were at church?” Eric asks, running the tip of his nose up the side of Jack’s neck, breathing against his pulse point.  

“I’d rather not say,” Jack breathes.  It doesn’t take much for Jack’s mind to wander these days.  If it’s not hockey, it’s Eric.

“Afraid you’re going to incriminate yourself, Mister Zimmermann?”

“Afraid your mother is going to walk in on us in a compromising situation again, is more like it.”

“Her lease starts in three days.  Then we’ll have this place all to ourselves,” Eric says, taking Jack by the hand and leading him through the apartment to their bedroom.  

“I’m on the road in two days and we’re supposed to be at Thirdy’s for the team barbeque all day tomorrow.”

“Then we’ll just have to learn how to make this work long-distance,” Eric says, a devious smile crossing his face.

“I’ve been on trips before,” Jack says.

“True, but this is the first time we’ll be able to talk as much as we want.  No parents in the way, no flu keeping me in bed. If anything is going to be keeping me in bed, it better be you.”

“I don’t think I’m following.”

“How’s your phone sex?” Bitty asks, laughing at Jack’s dumbfounded expression.  “Because something tells me we might need to practice.”


	7. Chapter 7

“I don’t think it will be enough,” Bitty says, wringing his hands as they pack up the car.  

“You don’t think 37 pies is enough pies?” Jack asks, fighting back a laugh.  “How many would have been enough?”

“I could have made it a round 40, I suppose.”

“You made a pie for each of the guys and still made seven pies for them to eat today.  How would three more have helped?”

“I don’t know!  It would have just evened things out!  Apple is always a favorite and I only made one of those for this afternoon.  What if someone has a nut allergy?  Or gluten!?  And I didn’t even think to make a vegan pie!”

“Eric,” Jack says, taking his hands and pulling them to his sides.  “You asked about allergies weeks ago.  And I promise you, no one has turned vegan since you’ve spoken to them last.”

“I could have brought jam!” Eric says, shaking his head.  “We made two cases of jam yesterday and I just left it all in the pantry!  We’re jam hoarders!”

“You are under no obligation to share the jam,” Jack says calmly.  “You don’t even have to tell anyone you made it if you don’t want to.”

“We live streamed it on Twitter, Jack!  Everyone is going to know I’m a dirty jam hoarder who never learned to share!  Gabby is going to eat me.  She’s been looking forward to the tutorial for so long and I didn’t even bring her any.  I didn’t even get the step by step video up on YouTube for her.  I meant to, but I fell asleep editing it last night!”

“That’s because you spent the last 18 hours making 37 pies.  Do you really think they’re going to be upset once you give them each a pie to take home?”

Eric sighs and steps into Jack’s embrace, burying his face into Jack’s chest.  “I just want to make a good impression,” he mumbles against the soft, worn fabric of Jack’s Falconers tee.

“They’ve already met you and they adore you,” Jack insists.  “They would love you even if you showed up empty handed.  I promise you.”

“No self-respecting southerner would ever show up to a cookout empty handed.  That’s a cardinal sin where I come from.”

“I think we’ve done enough sinning,” Jack says with a wry smile as he opens Bitty’s car door.  “Good thing you made so many pies.  Otherwise we’d really be going to hell.”

“You bite your tongue, Mister Zimmermann,” Eric chides as he boosts himself into the Range Rover with some difficulty.  “I heard enough about hell and damnation back in Georgia.  We’re in Yankee territory now where anything goes.”

“Just wait till I bring you to Montreal,” Jack says, pulling out of the garage and heading toward Thirdy’s house.  “It’s a whole other world.”

“I can’t wait to see where you grew up.  I bet it’s like something out of picture book.”

“I’d love to photograph you out on our ice.  It’s outdoors so there’s all this natural light.  You’ll look amazing like that.”

“You sure do know how to make somebody blush, Mister Zimmermann,” Bitty says, turning away to smile out the window, fingers flying over his phone like he’s not already telling Twitter exactly how sweet of a boyfriend Jack is.

“It’s just the truth,” Jack insists.  He describes his parents’ house at Eric’s insistence in great detail all the way to Thirdy’s sprawling property on the outskirts of town.  By the time they’re pulling into his winding drive, Eric’s nerves have disappeared entirely, replaced by teasing laughs as he asks Jack increasingly ridiculous questions about his childhood.

“And how many nannies did you have?  Were they allowed to use the indoor pool and the sauna, too?  Or was that a family-only privilege?”

“I only had a nanny when Maman was out of town shooting a film or doing something for a magazine.  And we didn’t have an indoor pool.”

“I didn’t hear you deny everything,” Bitty says, eyes going wide.  “Are you telling me you had a sauna in your house?”

“It was a steam shower and it really helped Papa after his knee replacement.  They put it in the master bathroom.  I’ve never even used it.”

“I guess I’ll let that one slide then,” Eric says, pursing his lips.  

“We’re here anyway,” Jack says, pulling up behind the last car in the circular drive.

“Jack.”

“Yes, Eric?”

“This is not a house.”

“It’s Thirdy’s house.  I told you that’s where we were going.  That’s why you made 37 pies… remember?”

“This is not a house.  It’s an estate.”

“Thirdy has been playing in the NHL for nearly twelve years.  That’s a lot of contract negotiation.  Plus, he has three kids.”

“You could fit a dozen kids in a house like this,” Eric insists, throwing his door open and sliding out the car.

“So you’d want something smaller?” Jack asks, keeping his voice as even and unassuming as possible.  

“You are not buying us a house, Jack.  And even if you do buy a house, when the time comes… it definitely doesn’t need to be this big.  Unless you plan to have a whole bunch of other people living in it with us.”

“Well, that all depends, doesn’t it?” Jack asks, pulling open the hatch so he can start unloading Bitty’s precious cargo from the trunk.  

“On what?”

“On how many kids you might want,” Jack replies, stacking up three pie boxes and reaching for them.

“What?  Jack!  Be careful!” Bitty yelps, lunging forward to unstack the boxes.  “If you smushed even one of those pies I will spank you.”

“You promise?” Jack asks, lips twitching.

“Don’t you dare tempt me,” Bitty says, swatting at Jack’s backside.  “And I know what you’re up to, playing all cool and casual.  You don’t fool me for one second.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jack says, resigning himself to making twenty trips to and from the car.  

“You don’t just ask a man how many children he wants and then pretend you didn’t say anything.  Who raised you?”

“Two overbearing yet socially inept celebrities?” Jack jokes, hoping for a laugh.

“I’m serious.”

“I was being serious, too!” Jack insists.  “Every time I try to ask you about the future you tell me to slow down or to stay in the moment, but I can’t help it,” he says, tone softening.  “I can’t help it if every time I look at you I see forever.”

“Well, I can’t blame you for that, can I?” Eric says, stepping between Jack’s pie-laden arms and lifting up on his tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek.  

“No?”

“No.  There’s nothing funny about that,” Bitty says, looking up at Jack, face dipped low to hide his nervous flush.  

“So what do you think?” Jack offers, almost too afraid to ask.

“I’m not committing to a number or anything like that,” Bitty says, the blush coming up as bright red blotches on his cheeks.  

“But…”

“But I think I quite like the idea,” Bitty says, picking up two pies himself and heading toward the front walk.  He looks back at Jack over his shoulder, cheeks flushed and eyebrows raised, a teasing smirk on his face.  “Now, I’m too young to even think about it… but it makes a pretty picture.”

“Having a family with me?”

“We’re already a family, sugar,” Bitty insists, stepping aside so Jack can be the one to ring the bell.  “But I bet you look damn good holding a baby.”

Thirdy pulls the door open before Jack has the chance to announce their arrival.  He looks between them for a few moments, eyes narrowed.

Jack can feel how his mouth is still hanging open and clamps it closed quickly.  When he looks over at Eric, he’s hiding a smug expression with an overly cheery smile.

“Am I interrupting something?” Thirdy asks.  “Because I can close the door and give you two some privacy.  Niadah wanted my help carrying the cooler anyway.”

“No need,” Bitty squeaks, holding out the two pies for Thirdy to take.  “You have these. I’ll go back and grab some more.”  He’s off like a shot down the steps and back to the car before Jack can stop him.  

“What did you say to him?” Thirdy asks, head tilted to the side as he considers Jack.

“You don’t want to know.”

“How many pies did he make?”

“You _really_ don’t want to know.”

 

* * *

 

It’s a warm day and Jack spends most of it in the yard playing games with some of the kids.  If he finds himself looking for Bitty’s blond head among the guests more than he does seeking the kids who have been hiding, there aren’t any other adults around to comment on it.

Tater joins him after a while and helps organize some Russian variation of red rover.  When the kids tire of it, he tries to teach them a some of his other favorites, but Jack has to step in when it turns out Tater’s favorite childhood pastime consists of throwing knives into makeshift targets.

“Is good to teach young ones this game,” Tater insists even as Jack is directing him back to the grill for a second helping of dinner.  “They learn healthy fear of weapons.”

“I am not giving those kids a pocket knife, Alexei,” Jack says firmly, filing a plate with salad before drizzling it with balsamic dressing.  “I don’t care what you used to do back in Russia.”

“Americans don’t know how to have good time,” Tater grumbles.  After a cursory look around the general vicinity, he sticks his beer in his mouth and pops the top of the bottle off with his teeth.

“When you’re asked to babysit, it’s usually a good idea to keep the kids away from knives,” Bitty says, sidling up to Jack to get a plate of his own.  “And fire. And oncoming traffic,” he adds quickly when Tater opens his mouth to argue.

“I never babysit before.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” Jack says, taking a seat next to Marty at a nearby picnic table.

“Yeah, who knows Tater,” Marty says, winking at Jack.  “Before you know it Jack and Eric will be asking you to look after their little one.”

“You have baby without telling me?” Tater crows, punching Jack so hard in the arm that he drops his fork.

“Ow!” Jack growls, attempting to punch Tater back but missing as he dodges out of the way.  “We are not having a baby.  Men don’t just have babies.  That’s not how it works.”

“But you make such cute babies, you and tiny baker!”

“A little birdy tells me you’ve been thinking about it,” Marty teases, voice light.

“Who have you been gossiping with Mister St. Martin?” Bitty asks, tutting his tongue at them.  

“Thirdy heard you guys talking outside the house,” Marty says with a shrug.  “Niadah and the rest of the ladies have been going on and on about it.  I think they want to throw you a baby shower already.”

“I’m going to murder that man,” Bitty says, jaw set in aggravation.  

“No killing before dessert!” Tater insists, banging his fists down on the table.  “When is time for pie?”

“I can start slicing them up whenever everyone is done eating.  But only if I see you boys help Mrs. Robinson clean up dinner first.”

“Yes, sir,” Marty says with a laugh, picking up a few plates as he stands from the table, Tater trotting along after him.

“I’m sorry about that,” Jack says as soon as they’re alone.  “I didn’t realize they would overhear.”

“Your boys are worse than a pack of church ladies, I swear.”

“They’re just happy that we’re happy,” Jack insists.  “They know how hard it is to be on the road all the time.  I’m sure Marty and Thirdy are just excited that you seem to be willing to stick with me through the playoffs.”

“I imagine getting dumped could throw somebody off their game,” Bitty agrees.

“I’d rather not find out.”

“It would take a lot more than idle gossip to put me off you, Mister Zimmermann.”

“Good, because the next few games are going to be rough.”

“You’re going to do great, sweetpea,” Bitty says, taking his hand and kissing his knuckles.  “And just think.  It’s only ten more days of hockey and then we’ll be on a plane, heading to paradise.”

“It can’t come soon enough,” Jack says, pulling Eric in close to his side and pressing a kiss to his temple.  “I can’t wait to be alone with you.  No press, no parents.  Just us.”

“Then when we get back I’ll be ready to practice my jumps again.  Katya thinks I’m ready.”

“That’s great, bud,” Jack says, squeezing Eric tight.  “I’m so happy for you.”

“I hope you don’t mind, but I think I might take your credit card and do some shopping,” Bitty says slowly, like he’s afraid of Jack’s reaction.

“I told you, Bits.  It’s your credit card.  It has your name on it and everything.  You can buy whatever you want.”

“I just need a few things for our trip.  I can’t get away with wearing those little hot pants in public.”

“What about in private?” Jack asks, leaning in to nip at Bitty’s throat.  

“I suppose I could bring them with me… if you feel that strongly about it.”

“Oh, I feel very strongly,” Jack says, letting his hand trail down Eric’s body to slide into his lap.  “And I think you do, too.”

“What has gotten into you, Mister Zimmermann?  There are children present!”

“Maybe I’m just thinking about starting our vacation early.”

“Keep it in your pants, darlin’,” Eric says, pulling Jack’s hand away from his crotch.  “You have pie to eat.”

“I bet you say that to all the boys.”

Tater interrupts, carrying two plates overladen with pie.  “You lose pie negotiation this time, yes?” he asks, sliding onto the bench opposite Jack.

“What is he talking about?” Eric asks, side-eyeing Jack.

“No comment,” he says, hiding his blush in the crook of Eric’s neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being patient with me! My hands are swollen and all numb and tingly because carpal tunnel and pregnancy, so I type at about half speed these days. Wrist braces make using a mouse a pain in the ass, let me tell you. Hope you enjoyed this chapter! I've got plenty more to come!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you thought Jack and Bitty were getting too good at sex... have this chapter! 
> 
> See end notes for spoilers/trigger warnings for this chapter.

Jack’s phone chimes and he runs in from the bathroom to answer it before it stops playing _Love On Top_.  He still isn’t sure how Bitty managed to change the ringtone, but he can’t exactly complain.  It always makes him smile whenever he hears the upbeat tune.

“Hello?” he asks, diving onto the bed like a giddy child.  

“Hey there, sugar,” Bitty’s syrupy slow voice answers.  

Jack feels like his smile must be audible.  “Hey, yourself.”

“Do you have a tie handy?”

“Why do you ask?” Jack says, already jumping up to rifle through his suitcase.  He’s not sure he’s coordinated enough to tie himself up, but he can’t say he’s not interested in what it would feel like.

“Tater told me you’re supposed to put it on the door if we’re going to be getting frisky on roadies.”

“And is that what we’re doing?”

“I was hoping so,” Bitty says, accent thick and sultry.  “If you’re interested.”

Jack can almost picture him trailing his finger down his chest in a slow tease.  “I’m interested.”

“I’m very glad to hear it, sugar,” Eric says.  

A soft rustling tells Jack he must already be in bed.  It’s not hard to picture him there, lying back against their sheets, nipples peaked and chest flushed with arousal.  

“So tell me,” Eric begins, “how are you feeling after that last win, Mister Zimmermann?”

“Pretty good,” Jack admits.  It had been a hard game, but he’d scored two goals himself and they’d managed to eke out a win.  “I’d be better if you were here.  It’s always better when I know you’re watching.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Jack asks, his voice already going low and husky, the way he knows Bitty likes.

“And what would I be doing if I were there?”

Jack’s breath hitches.  This is it.  He’s supposed to say something dirty.  That’s what Eric is expecting.  That’s what men in relationships are supposed to do when they’re away from their partners.  It shouldn’t be this difficult.

“Umm…” he trails off, mind drawing a blank.  

Thankfully, Eric knows him well enough to take the pressure off.

“Did you take a shower when you got home from press?” he asks, and it’s a leading question.  It must be, because Eric knows Jack always takes a second shower after getting home from away games.  It’s part of his well-crafted routine.  If Eric is asking rhetorical questions, it must be part of the game.  Jack should play along.

“Yes.  Of course I did,” Jack replies, wishing he didn’t sound quite so robotic.  This is Eric.  Just Eric.  He has nothing to be nervous about.  Eric loves him.  There’s no way he could fuck this up.

Except of course there is.  

Jack is the king of fucking up.  He’s already terrible at this.  They should quit while they’re ahead.  He should tell Eric that before he gets his hopes up.

“You look so good in the shower, honey,” Eric says, continuing the charade.  “I just can’t keep my hands off you when you’re dripping wet like that.  We’ve had some good times in showers, as far as I can recall.  Wouldn’t you say?”

“Yeah,” Jack answers dumbly, dry throat clicking audibly.  He reaches for the nightstand where a bottle of water sits and chugs down half of it in one go.  

“That last time was particularly memorable.  Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes.”

“What was your favorite part, sugar?” Eric asks.

Jack freezes, chest seizing up like he’s been plunged into icy water.    

“Come on honey, you can tell me.  Do you remember what we did?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about it.”

Licking his lips, Jack struggles to find words—any words at all.  He’ll take anything that doesn’t sound completely idiotic.  He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, thinking back to the last time they made love in their bathroom at the condo.  It was hot and steamy and literally took his breath away.  Should he say that?

“It was hot,” he manages, throwing a hand over his eyes in embarrassment.  

“Sure was, baby.  What else?” Eric asks, clearly trying to torture him.

“I, uh,” he tries again, desperate to prove that he isn’t completely horrible at this.  “I didn’t think you’d be able to fuck me in there—because you’re so—”

“—excuse me?”

“—I mean, because I’m so tall.  But you surprised me.”

“That’s better, sugar.  Tell me more.  What did you like about it?”

“Can’t you tell me?” Jack asks, more than ready to let Eric take the lead.

“Tell me one thing—your favorite thing about that day—and then I’ll take it from there.  Does that sound fair?”

It does sound fair, which is infuriating, but Jack does his best.  “I um… I liked it when you held me down… and told me not to move.”

“And you listened?  Didn’t you, baby?”

“Yeah.”

“I was so proud of you.  You’re so good at following direction, sweetheart.  So good at doing exactly what I tell you, and then you get everything you want.  Don’t you?” Bitty says, breathy and slow.

“Yes,” Jack manages.

“Didn’t I give you everything you wanted that day?  Because you were such a good boy for me?  Don’t I always give you what you want?  In time, of course.  Sometimes I need to make you wait for it, because that just makes it feel so much better when you finally get it.”

Fuck, Bitty is good at this.  It’s not fair.  How can Eric be so good in bed and so good at dirty talk over the phone?  Jack is trying his hardest and he can barely give one-word answers.  He really needs to learn how to step up his game.  Would it be cheating to google phone sex tips right now?

“Now tell me, what do you like about being held down?”

“I, uh…” Jack tries, but everything he comes up with sounds so stupid.  He doesn’t know how to describe it.  It’s just a feeling that he gets that probably doesn’t make sense to anyone else.  

“It’s okay, you can tell me anything, Jack.”

It’s true.  Jack has always been able to tell Bitty anything—no judgment, no laughter, no shame.  Eric is trying so hard to make this good for him, the least he could do is give a little something back, no matter how embarrassed he might feel.  

“It makes me feel… safe?” he says, though he’s not quite sure it’s a proper description.

“That’s good, baby.  That’s so good,” Eric says, shifting on the sheets.  “What else?”

“I, um…” Jack closes his eyes tight, trying to imagine what it feels like when Bitty is holding him down, to pretend he can feel it on his skin.  “I think I need the struggle sometimes,” he says finally, picturing Eric’s biceps flexing as he pushes and pulls Jack however he wants him.  “It’s like with hockey.  If it doesn’t hurt—if it isn’t hard, then it’s like it’s not worth it.  I guess…”

“I know exactly what you mean, Jack,” Eric says, voice calm and soothing.  “You really need something to pull against.”

“Yeah, but it’s also that it’s you,” Jack says, wanting to make it clear that Eric is the one who makes him feel good.  “Sometimes I need you to hold me down and make me take it, because otherwise, I would give up.  You get me out of my head and make me feel good.  You kind of… force me to focus on how good it feels.”

“I like holding you down, sugar.  You have no idea how good I feel when you’re thrashing against me.  Or when I tell you to stay and you do.  I’ve never had someone listen to me like that before.  No one has ever wanted to let me do what I want—whatever I want.  It’s such a rush, Jack, you have no idea,” Eric says quickly, all in one breath.

“Are you—” Jack wants to ask, but then thinks better of it.

“I’m so hard for you right now, baby.  So hard thinking about all the things I could do to that perfect body of yours.  How I could make it move for me, make it sing.”

“That’s good,” Jack says, happy he seems to be doing something right after all.

“Are you touching yourself, Jack?”

“No,” he replies.  He hadn’t even thought about it.  He’s not hard—not even close.

“Would you touch yourself for me, honey?  Please—” he breaks off.  A rustling of fabric betrays his actions.  “My pants are off.  Take yours off too, okay?”

“Okay,” Jack agrees, though he doesn’t see what use it’s going to do.  He eyes the door warily.  There’s a tie on the knob, but if someone decided to take it off as a joke, or if Tater didn’t notice it… he might get walked in on.  Jack doesn’t think he’d be able to survive the shame if someone—Tater, the housekeeper, anyone—were to walk in on him jerking off.

“Are you touching yourself, baby?”   

“Yes,” Jack says, reaching for his dick and just holding it in his hand.  

“How does it feel?  Tell me how good it feels.”

“Uhh…” Jack hedges.  Should he lie?  Is that part of how phone sex works?  Does anyone really like it?  Or are they all just pretending for someone else’s benefit—going through the motions because it’s what you’re expected to do?

“That’s okay, honey.  We can do this,” Eric says, cutting off a moan.  “Can you finger yourself for me?  Have any got lube with you?”

“No,” Jack admits.  He wasn’t exactly planning to have sex with anyone on this roadie, and he can’t remember the last time he tried to masturbate.  

“That’s alright sugar,” Bitty breathes.  “I’ll make sure you pack some next time.”

So this is going to be a regular thing, Jack gathers.  He’s not sure how he feels about that.

“Just lick your fingers or maybe take one of those little lotion bottles out of the bathroom.  Can you do that for me?”

“Sure,” Jack says, getting off the bed.  He goes to the bathroom and looks at the complimentary toiletries but doesn’t find any lotion, just shampoo, body wash, and conditioner.

“Find it?”

“Yeah,” Jack lies.  “Got it.”  So what if he’s not hard.  Just because he’s not going to get off doesn’t mean that Eric shouldn’t.  

“Now put your heels up on the bed and rub around that sweet little hole for me,” Bitty breathes steadily, slowly, like he’s trying to make himself last.

“Okay,” Jack answers, doing no such thing.  

“Are you alright, honey?  You didn’t tweak your shoulder too bad earlier, did you?  Can you reach okay?”

“I’m fine,” Jack says, because he _is_ fine.  There’s nothing wrong with this scenario.  If he were in the mood for sex, he’d be doing exactly what Eric asked him to right now.  Instead, he’s playing along until his boyfriend can get himself off.  There’s nothing wrong with that.

Right?

“Tell me how it feels, sugar.  Tell me what you’re doing.”

“Can you tell me?” Jack asks, not wanting to outright lie.  “I need to hear your voice—please?”

“Of course, baby,” Eric answers immediately.  “I’m sorry, I know this must be hard for you.  I’ll just tell you what I’m doing and you can do whatever makes you feel good, okay?”

“Okay,” Jack replies.  He can do that.  Lying here, listening to Eric is making him feel very good—even if he’s not aroused.

“I’m thinking about your fingers.  They’re so big—so much broader than mine.  God, they felt so amazing when you got them inside me.  I think about that a lot.  Do you?”

“Yeah,” Jack says easily, pitching his voice low, letting out a long breath.

“God, Jack.  That day after we skated together, when you stretched me open and then let me ride you… I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.  Your dick inside me, it was like a religious experience.  Do you think you’d want to do that again sometime?”

“Sure,” Jack says.  It was a harrowing experience for him, one that ended in tears, if he recalls correctly, but Eric had looked wonderful bouncing in his lap.  It wouldn’t be a hardship to make his boyfriend feel good like that again.

“We could get you a plug.  Maybe something big.  You liked when I had my whole fist in you.  Imagine having something that big filling you up while I ride you as hard as I can.  It would feel so good, baby.”

Jack actually feels his dick twitch slightly at the thought.  “I—” he tries, wanting to participate a little bit, “I think I’d like that.”

“You were so hard that day, baby.  Harder than I’d ever seen you,” Eric says, a slick sliding noise accompanying his words.  “I thought you would break me with that giant cock, but you didn’t.  Do you remember what you did?”

“I used my mouth,” Jack says easily.  He doesn’t even need to fake his enthusiasm about it.  “You were shivering all over.”

“Fuck yes, I was,” Eric agrees through clenched teeth, trying to hold on a little while longer.  “Remember what you told me afterward?”

“That I’d do it again sometime,” Jack replies.  “That the next time I’d do it as long as it took for you to come.”

“I think about that all the time, sugar.  I’d never done that before and you made me feel so good.  It was incredible, honey.”

“I’d do it again right now if you were here,” Jack admits, and it seems to be the right thing to say, because Eric starts moaning in agreement.

“Fuck, Jack.  You were so good at that, and then your big cock splitting me open.  I could have died right then.  I thought life would never get better than that.”

“Mmm,” Jack hums, not knowing how to reply.

“When you get home I’m going to take you to bed right away.  I think maybe I should stretch myself out before you get home.  That’s how rough I want it.  I think the dining room table is just the right height.  You could carry me there and lay me out and fuck me right there in the middle of the house, right in front of the window.  You’d look so fucking good like that, baby, towering over me,” Bitty spouts out in a rush, words almost tripping over themselves on the way out of his mouth.

Jack is impressed.  He knew Eric was vocal in bed, but this is taking dirty talk to a whole new level.  

Moaning between words, Bitty continues before Jack has the chance to say anything.  “I could lie back and relax and that big cock of yours would stretch me so wide.  I bet I’d come so fast.  And then you could pull out and come all over my chest, until it’s dripping down my stomach, all mixed together with mine.  I’m going to be drenched in it, baby.  It’ll spread everywhere, all over that table.  And then I’d get hard again just from watching you come.  And I bet you could make me come again.”

“Fuck,” is all Jack can manage to say.  He’s rendered speechless by Bitty’s performance.

“God baby, I’m so close.  Are you close?”

“Mmm,” Jack moans again, hoping it’s convincing.  He’s not sure how much longer he can listen to this.  Bitty’s sounds are getting louder and more exaggerated.  They almost sound fake to Jack’s ears and it’s starting to grate on him.  

“When I’m done the second time I’m going to pound into your hole with my hand so hard you see stars.  You’re going to come all over yourself until it’s dripping off you onto the floor.  Your legs are going to buckle and you’ll fall to your knees in that slick puddle.  It’s going to be filthy.  We both know how much you can come, how hot and thick it is.  God, it feels so good, holding you in my hand, feeling you go over the edge.  It’s the sexiest thing in the world, the way you tense and then explode all over me—all over yourself.  Fuck, Jack.  Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He’s nearly screaming now, and it sounds so ridiculous, Jack feels uncomfortable.  If he didn’t know any better Jack would say it sounds like he’s walking in on a show already in progress, like it’s something well-rehearsed.   

Suddenly, it hits Jack like a ton of bricks.  It sounds like an act because it probably is.  It sounds like Bitty’s done this before because he probably has.  Fuck.  Bitty’s probably done this dozens of times for men he barely knew.  He said it himself… sometimes he went home with men just for a hot shower and a place to lay his head for the night…

Jack feels like vomiting.  He wants to throw the phone across the room.  

It’s okay, Jack tells himself.  Eric has a past.  Jack knows this.  They’ve talked about it.  Jack doesn’t judge Bitty for it, he just hadn’t prepared himself for what it might feel like to talk to a professional phone sex operator.  

He knows it’s totally different.  Eric and Jack are in a relationship.  They’re in love.  Eric is just trying to keep their intimacy intact when they have to spend time apart.  This is a totally normal way to express intimacy. 

Then why does it feel so weird to have Eric panting in his ear?

“God, Jack.  I’m so close.  I’m going to come.  Will you come for me?”

“Not tonight,” Jack says, voice going cold and dark without his permission.  “It’s okay though,” he tries again.  He loves Eric.  Eric should get to orgasm.  He wants Eric to feel good.  “You can come for me.  It’s okay.  Please, come for me,” Jack says, throat catching on a breath as he tries to calm down.

“Fuck, okay.  Okay,” Bitty repeats, exhaling loudly as he nears the edge.  “Fuck, I’m coming.  Oh God, Jack.  Fuck, baby,” he moans, stuttering off into a sigh.  

Silence stretches out between them for a few moments before Jack hears, “I love you,” said quietly—earnestly.  “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” Jack replies, mind racing.

“I know that must have been hard for you, but I’m so proud of you for trying for me.”

“Was it, uh… good for you?”

“Of course, Jack,” Eric says, breathing slowly returning to normal.  “It’s you and me—of course, it’s going to be good.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack says immediately, not knowing what else to say.  The guilt is already creeping in.  “I’m sorry I couldn’t get hard for you,” he says instead of what he’s really thinking.  

“That’s alright, baby.  I know it’s hard for you without something inside.  I’ll think on it for a little bit and we’ll figure something out, alright?”

“Okay.”

“You did so well for me, sugar.  Really,” Bitty says again, reassuring him.

Now Jack feels even more awful.  He wants to apologize but isn’t sure how to say it.  Is it weird to apologize for your own insecurities?  Does he need to apologize for something that Eric never even has to know about?  

He wants to ask.  If he doesn’t, he knows it will just fester into something dark and ugly inside of him.  It will grow for days, for weeks on end until it manifests into a panic attack—

“—Are you okay, baby?  Your breathing sounds funny,” Eric says, voice trembling with concern.

Jack laughs.  This man loves him, knows him so well he can tell when anxiety is creeping in even from 800 miles away.  It’s more than Jack feels he will ever deserve.

“I was just thinking—” he stops himself.  There is no good way to say this.  He’s going to sound like a jealous crazy person.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me,” Bitty assures him.

“I was just freaking out because it um… it didn’t feel real,” he settles on.  It’s not the truth, but it’s not a lie either.

“Because we’re not really together?  I know you have trouble masturbating.  I should have known it would have been difficult for you to feel good just touching yourself.  I do really wish I was there with you, honey.”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just—” Jack is struggling.  He can’t get his thoughts in order.  “I know you like to talk in bed,” he says, talking around the subject.  Maybe if he sneaks up on it, he’ll be able to get the words out.  “And I like it.  Usually, it helps me, to know you’re enjoying yourself, to know what you want me to do… but—”

“It’s okay, take your time.”

“I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe you’ve been… exaggerating a little, for my benefit?” Jack asks, eyes squeezed shut tightly against his own voice.  

“I mean, doesn’t everyone play it up a little on the phone?  You can’t see my face so I have to say everything I want you to know—spell it out a little.  I promise you, I meant every word of it,” Eric says, words shortening, tone serious.  “What’s really going on here, Jack?”

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, because he knows it’s wrong, “I’m so, so sorry, but I can’t stop thinking of all the other people you might have slept with—who you might have faked it with.  I keep imagining how you learned to do all this stuff… how you’re so good at it.  And that’s _my_ issue,” Jack says firmly.  “I know it’s my issue.  Your past is not your fault and I don’t blame you at all, but it’s hard for me to hear you like that and feel like I had nothing to do with it.  That maybe you could have been with anyone just then.  That maybe you’ve done exactly that before—faked it because you didn’t have any other choice.  And that… it breaks my heart.”

There’s silence on the other end of the call and Jack’s heart rushes into his throat.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“—No, it’s okay,” Eric says, though it’s unconvincingly followed by several sniffles.  “I guess I should have seen this coming… we just never really talked about it and I thought it wouldn’t affect us, but clearly, I was wrong.”

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t—”

“—Clearly we do,” Bitty says firmly, “because the last thing I want you thinking about while we’re making love is my brief stint in transactional sex.”

“It’s not your fault that I’m insecure,” Jack says.  He’s talked to Blaire enough to know what his shortcomings are.  “I’m jealous, I’m possessive, and I’m a big enough headcase that I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop.  Those are _my_ issues.  Not yours.”

“Of course they’re my issues, Jack,” Eric says with a sigh.  “I love you.  I’m with you.  Your issues are my issues, and if I can help to put them to rest, I’m going to do it.  So let’s talk about this.”

“Okay,” Jack says.  He honestly didn’t expect it to be a conversation.  He’s always had to deal with these things on his own.  It never occurred to him to try to explain them to Eric.  Not while they were still spinning around in his head.

“I was not faking it.  I do not think about anyone but you when we’re in bed together.  If I could wipe those years on the street and those men from my memory, I would do it in a heartbeat.”

“I’m sorry I talked to you like that,” Jack says, now that he’s had a minute to think over what happened.  “I have no right to bring it up, especially since I know the memories upset you.”

“I’m not proud of it, but it happened and I can’t change that now,” Bitty says, quite reasonably, as far as Jack’s concerned.  “But I also can’t deny that those years took their toll on me.  And maybe you’re right.  I might go into sex like I have something to prove, and maybe that’s my issue to deal with.”

“I like how you have sex.  I don’t mind that you’re aggressive about it.  I like it that way, actually,” Jack says.  “It kind of takes some of the pressure off me.  We both know I can’t… perform all the time.  Not like you can.”

“And I do like bossing you around a bit,” Eric admits sheepishly.  “I always had to be the passive one and it’s been real nice not having to pretend to be some waif—to pretend to like everything because I’m looking to get something else out of it.”

“So you do like it?  What we do together?  What we just did?”

“Of course I like it, sweetpea.  Did you not just hear me come like a firehose?”

“That’s an image I’m never going to get out of my mind,” Jack says, laughing.

“You know what I mean,” Eric says, joining him in laughter.  “I like it because it’s you.  Because it’s us.  I think we’re kind of incredible together and that you’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, let alone gotten to touch.  You drive me absolutely crazy and maybe sometimes I go a little overboard.  I can tone it down if it’s making you uncomfortable.”

“No,” Jack says immediately.  “Don’t tone it down.  Never tone it down.”

Bitty laughs.  It’s high and bright and exactly what Jack needs to hear.

“I love everything you do.  I’m sorry I had a temporary freak-out.  It won’t happen again.”

“Don’t say that, honey,” Eric says, voice softening into something warm and gentle.  “You can’t promise me that.  It might happen again and that’s okay.  You can’t help how you feel and I don’t want you to feel like you have to lie to me in the future if something isn’t working for you.  Please, just be honest with me and we’ll work it out together.  Okay?”

“Okay,” Jack agrees easily.  This conversation is going much better than he had feared.  

“And I think maybe it’s time to call some of those numbers that Miss Blaire gave me,” Eric says, sighing into the speaker.  “I try to shove it all down and pretend everything is fine, but maybe these things are affecting me worse than I’d care to admit.”

“It’s okay to ask for help,” Jack agrees.  “And if you want to talk to me about it, I’m here to listen.  I know I get jealous and lash out sometimes, but if you want to tell me, I’ll try my best to keep an open mind.”

“Thanks, Jack,” Bitty says, a smile creeping into his voice.  “And it’s not like I’m the only one with a past.  If you want to talk about something, you just let me know.”

“Okay,” Jack says, though he’s not quite sure what Bitty is hinting at.  

“Okay,” Eric says.  “Now why don’t I get cleaned up real quick and then I can tell you all about my skate with Katya this morning.”

“I’d like that,” Jack says, getting up to remove the tie from the doorknob and then settling down against his pillows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Bitty initiates phone sex with Jack who isn't exactly comfortable with it but wants to make Eric happy. Jack lies/pretends/fakes it until after Bitty has finished and then guilt starts to set in. Jack panics about lying (and other intrusive thoughts about Bitty's sexual history) and Bitty notices something is wrong. They discuss what happened and ultimately end up on the same page. 
> 
> If you need any more info about that or think I'm missing a tag for whatever we call this situation, please let me know!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How's it going y'all? I hope you're excited for some #BroBonding with the softest of bros, one Jack Zimmermann.

After a few days at home during which Jack trains harder than he ever has in his life, he’s back on the road.  Another game, another hotel room, but this time, there’s something to look forward to at the end of the tunnel.

One more game.  

Jack only has to play one more game and then tomorrow he’ll be on a plane back to Providence and starting a week-long vacation with Eric.  No players, no press, no hockey, no parents.  Just him and Eric and a little cabin on a secluded stretch of the Pacific.  He rented a place that boasted its own private beach access, the perfect place to be blissfully alone with Eric.

The last team standing between him and his vacation is, of course, the Blues.  They are none too happy about losing their star goalie and three of their defensemen, but have still managed to pull it together enough to be vying for a playoff slot.  The new D men they brought up from their farm team are giants, even by NHL standards. 

Jack spends more time flat on the ice than he does in possession of the puck.  The other team is so aggressive that Tater and Thirdy get thrown in the sin bin for fighting while trying to protect him.  There aren’t any slurs said out loud—management must have given their remaining players an ultimatum—but Jack can tell still hear them every time someone rams him into the boards.  

This team isn’t just angry.  They’re angry with Jack.  It’s his fault they’re crawling their way out of a PR nightmare, his fault the Blues are all expecting to be traded at the end of the season, him and his gayness.  It’s a tough pill to swallow and Jack finds himself trying to channel Bitty’s self-confidence.

_There is nothing wrong with him.  Nothing wrong with their relationship.  If the Blues don’t like it, they can kindly get the fuck out of his way.  He has a Stanley Cup to win._

In the end, it’s the new goalie that hands the Falconers the game.  Marty manages to sink the puck in exactly once, but that’s all it takes.  The Blues spend so much time trying to murder Jack that they never manage to get the puck in the net.  Snowy does a fantastic job, as always, and by the end of the night Marty’s goal is the only one on the board.

He showers and makes a quick stop to the trainers’ office to let them check his hip where it hit the ice the last time and then Jack is changing into his suit and following Thirdy and Marty into the press room.  Jack’s hair is dripping and he runs a hand through it, hoping it won’t wet his collar on camera.  The last thing he needs is for the press to ask him to share the details of his shower in the St. Louis locker room.

“You ready, Captain?” Tater asks, patting him on the back so hard he stumbles.  

“As I’ll ever be,” Jack says, shaking it off.  

“Don’t worry, kiddo,” Marty says, squeezing his forearm, a much more comforting touch than Tater’s.  “They’ll be tough, but it’s just a few questions and then we’re done till the playoffs, alright?”

“Right,” Jack repeats.  

“I heard you’re taking a trip with Eric,” Thirdy says, nudging him in the shoulder.  “Where are you two lovebirds headed?”

“Hawaiʻi.  Oahu and then Kauai,” Jack says, already picturing the sun shining down on Eric, making his skin freckle and tan.

“Big spender,” Marty jokes.  “Taking your boy to paradise?  Sounds like someone is planning to pop the question.”

“I’m not,” Jack says.  “I mean, I’m probably not.  I didn’t even buy a ring yet.”

“No ring?” Tater says, shocked.  “No worry, we go shopping after press.  Find Itty Bitty something nice.”

“That’s not—”

“—Imagine this, Captain… you walking on beach, you kiss watching sunset, and you think huh, maybe this being good time for popping big question.  And then,” he pats his pockets, looking distraught.  “Oh no,” he cries, grasping Jack’s shoulders, “you don’t have ring.  Perfect moment pass and you not engaged to tiny baker.”

“The man has a point, Jack,” Marty says, fighting back a laugh.

“We passed a Tiffany’s while we were out to lunch earlier.  I bet they’d stay open late if I called and asked,” Thirdy says, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

Jack stares at him for a few seconds before sighing.  “Make the call,” he says, shaking his head as the other three hoot and cheer behind him.  

A couple of minutes later, when Jack takes his seat at the press table, he feels lighter than air.  A few questions, all he has to do is get through a handful of routine questions and then he’ll be picking out a ring for the love of his life.

The lights burn his eyes as Jack looks through the sea of reporters for a non-threatening face to call on.  He chooses someone at random, hoping they’re not too aggressive.  He’s getting excited, eager to escape this room and head out to the jewelry store with Tater.  Jack didn’t think it would appeal to him so much—shopping has never been his strong suit—but the more he thinks about, the more interested he is in putting a ring on it, so to speak.

Feeling his face heat, Jack realizes he just mentally quoted Beyoncé, Patron Saint of the Bootylicious.   _Crisse,_ Bitty really is starting to rub off on him.   

“How does it feel to be first in the league?” the reporter asks.

The panel lets out a collective sigh of relief.  Maybe they’re going easy on them after all. 

“We worked very hard to get here and our record is a testament to our work ethic and dedication to this game and to our city,” Marty says, stepping into the fire easily.  “Tonight was a tough one, but we were able to pull out a win and we’ll be riding that high into our bye week.”

“You took a lot of rough hits out there tonight, Jack,” someone else says, “do you think that aggression was retaliatory?  After all, the Blues are missing some of their best players due to the scandal involving you and their former goalie at the All-Stars game.”

“The Blues played how they thought they had to play to win, but it just wasn’t enough today,” Thirdy says, stepping in.

“The lawsuits against me and against the league were dismissed.  West and his teammates were terminated with cause and are no longer welcome to play in the NHL.  I decided not to pursue any legal action in regard to defamation of character so the whole situation can be put to rest,” Jack says.  It’s exactly what Georgia made him practice saying.  He just hopes there aren’t any follow up questions because he will have no idea how to answer them.

“Who want to hear about how Captain want to propose to cute baker?” Tater cuts in.  “He being very romantic.”

Jack buries his head in his hands as the room erupts with noise.  He’s torn between being irritated and grateful.  On the one hand, no one is going to ask him about West or the lawsuit again tonight, on the other hand, he’s never going to be able to go to a jewelry store without a herd of photographers following him.  Tater just made ring shopping nearly impossible.

Their flight to Hawaiʻi can’t come soon enough.

 

* * *

 

 “Captain!” Tater stage whispers, shaking him.  “Is time to leave now.”

Opening one eye, Jack peers at the alarm clock.  “Alexei, it’s past midnight!  What do you want?”  He’d talked to Bitty for a bit after press, dodging chirps about Tater’s big announcement and his resultant denial, and then fallen into a deep sleep.  Jack didn’t even hear Tater unlock their door or stumble in, clearly intoxicated.  “Don’t you want to sleep?”

“We sleep on plane, now we shop!  Others wait in car.  Would have chucked up in elevator, I think.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We talk to store, get them to open again.  They have back entrance.  No one will see.  Come now,” he hollers, pulling Jack’s comforter back

“I am not getting up until you tell me what you’re talking about,” Jack says again, still bleary from sleep.

“You get up, we go to ring store, then we come back to sleep.  No shower, just hat.  Come now, bystreye!” he yells, yanking on Jack’s arm until he moves.

Objectively, Jack knows this is a nice thing Alexei and the guys have done for him, and he should take advantage of it while he can.  Even so, as his hip protests on his walk to the bathroom, he visualizes punching Tater in the face for making him get out of bed in the middle of the night.

The more he wakes up, the clearer it becomes that Tater has probably been out drinking with the team and this shopping trip may turn out to have more of a bachelor party vibe than he’s prepared for.

“Are the rest of the guys sober at least?” he calls back to Tater as he relieves himself and sets to wash his face and brush his teeth.  

“Snowy having good time.  Thirdy having very good time.  Marty sleeping off in limo downstairs.  Old men can’t hold vodka in this country.  Embarrassing.”

Jack dresses quickly and makes sure he has his wallet and room key before following Tater out the door.  He pulls a cap down low over his eyes and hopes no one will see them sneaking out in the middle of the night and follow them to their destination.

“No worry, Zimmboni.  They promise not to even turn store lights on.  We do secret shopping.”

It’s sweet, really, so Jack claps him on the shoulder and lets him slide into the limo first.  When Jack settles down against the leather he finds that Marty is in fact passed out, and Thirdy and Snowy look rougher than Jack has seen them in some time.

“You guys have a little too much fun tonight?” he asks, glancing between Marty’s greasy hair and the bags under Thirdy’s eyes.

“We just made the playoffs, Cap.  Don’t you think that deserves a bit of celebration?” Snowy booms with no regard for Marty, still asleep next to him.  

“We made it to the playoffs a few weeks ago based on our record, but sure.  Celebrate away.”

“Don’t worry,” Tater cuts in.  “Jack do plenty of celebrating with Itty Bitty last trip.  There was tie on door at midnight!”

“You lucky bastard,” Thirdy says.  “Niadah never does it with me on Skype anymore.”

“We weren’t doing anything,” Jack starts to protest, but Tater just cuts him off with a slow, high whistle.

“No need deny, Captain.  Is healthy.  Is good for you.  Much less robot voice now than when we first meet.”

“He’s got a point there, Cap,” Snowy says, a knowing smile on his face.  “You really are better with him—happy.  We’re much less worried about you now.  You used to spend so much time alone.  Before Tater made the team, you even used to room by yourself and sit alone on the bus.”

“I just like to read,” Jack mumbles.  

“Yeah, boring non-fiction books on tape and historical biographies.  Have you even read Harry Potter?”

“Of course I’ve read Harry Potter.”

“Could have fooled me,” Thirdy agrees.  “You were walking around the locker room like you had a broom handle up your ass.”

“I think there something else there now,” Tater muses, a wide grin on his face.

“Cut it out guys,” Jack says, hiding his blush while simultaneously punching Tater in the arm.

“Captain is blushing!  No need for being embarrass!  We all just very happy for you and Itty Bitty.  You make him very nice husband.”

“Thanks, Alexei,” Jack says, lips twitching upward in appreciation.

“I don’t know,” Snowy says, shaking Marty awake as the limo comes to a stop.  “I think Jack has the better end of that deal.  Eric is probably going to be the better husband.”

“If you think Jack doesn’t worship the ground that boy walks on, you’re crazy,” Marty chimes in, yawning and stretching until his arms hit the roof of the limo.  “That kind of devotion?  There’s no contest.”

“You do have laser focus, Cap,” Snowy agrees.  “It’s almost scary sometimes.”

“Heh, yeah,” Jack says, shrugging.  

He knows he can be intense—how much of a struggle it was to slow down and let Eric catch up to how strongly he felt about him.  He’s always been all or nothing.  Why bother with something if you’re not going to give it 110% of your energy? 

Jack has never been good at setting limits or knowing when to quit, especially with Eric.  As far as he’s concerned, being married to Eric will be the greatest joy of his life and they might as well start living their best lives as soon as possible.

They pile out of the limo and find themselves in a back alley, shielded from the street by a collection of dumpsters.  Jack tries to ignore the shiver that runs through his body at the sight, refuses to be brought back to the chilling fear of finding Eric bleeding out on that dirty pavement, not on what is meant to be a happy occasion.  

He follows Tater to a back door where they knock and are brought inside.  The manager has set up a makeshift viewing station in the employee lounge so they don’t have to go into the storefront where anyone could see them through the windows.  

As soon as Jack sits down at the computer chair and is presented with several dozen choices, he begins to panic.  There are so many options, bands with stones, feminine looking engagement rings, simple bands, elegant twists of metal… way too many to choose from.

The manager is kind and knowledgeable but some of the words he’s using are entirely foreign to Jack.  He knows the names of a few cuts and what a carat is, but has no idea what some of the metals are called or if he should care about pavé versus channel settings.  There are a few that look so old fashioned Jack can dismiss them quickly, but beyond that, he’s lost.

“What about going non-traditional?” a saleswoman asks, coming at him with a tray of jewels in a dazzling array of colors.  “It’s not just diamonds anymore.  Sapphires and rubies are popular, as well as colored diamonds.”

A delicate ring with a small pearl in it catches his eye, but he can’t bring himself to reach for it.  There must be a middle ground between the classic female engagement ring and the heavy masculine bands.  Jack pictures Eric’s hand, how the slim fingers always manage to slip right into his.  Some of these are just too bulky.  They would look ridiculous.

He sets tray after tray aside, listening to the slurred commentary from Marty and Thirdy, who seem to know much more about jewelry than Jack thought a bunch of drunk athletes would.  Eventually, he’s left with just a few trays, mostly thin bands in a variety of silver and gold hues. 

It might be a bit much, but Jack keeps coming back to one of the more ostentatious rings.  It’s platinum with a large center stone in a round cut.  Something about it calls to him. 

“Would it be weird if I got him a women’s ring?” Jack asks at a whisper.  “Because his fingers are so small?”

“Not at all,” the saleswoman assures him, bringing back a tray of traditional engagement rings.  “It’s becoming more and more popular for men to get stones in their rings.  Which one were you thinking of?  We can always swap out the stone to something bigger if you like a particular setting.”

With a shaking hand and breath caught in his chest, Jack points to an oddly-shaped diamond ring with two thin gold bands.  It has a few other stones around it, making it look almost like a crown.

“Ah, the marquis cut,” the manager says, removing it from the foam block and holding it out to Jack.  “It’s an older style, but it’s coming back.”

“This one is lovely,” the saleswoman agrees, moving a light so it shines down on the gems.  “With the smaller pear and cushion cuts on either side, it makes for a unique piece.  That’s four carats plus the side stones makes a total weight of 4.8.”

“Is that a lot?” Jack asks, looking up to Snowy and the rest of them.  At least they’re married.  He really has no idea what he’s doing and could use some advice.  

“I think for most people anything over a karat is a lot,” Marty says knowingly.  “I was just a kid when I proposed to Gabby.  I got the ring from her grandmother.  Things are a little different now that we have multi-million dollar contracts.”

“The price on this is $46,000,” the manager says promptly.  

Thirdy whistles.  “If that doesn’t say commitment, I don’t know what does.”

“Do you think he would like it?” Jack asks Tater.  “Or should I go with the one that was like Beyoncé’s?”

“No one wants copy ring,” Tater says like he knows what he’s talking about.  “Bitty is like snowflake, yes?  No one else like Itty Bitty.”

He considers this for a minute, twisting the ring around in his fingers to watch it sparkle under the jeweler’s lamp.  As he takes the ring and slips it halfway down his pinky, admiring it as he shifts his hand from side to side, a small smile graces his lips.  

“I think I’d like this one,” Jack says, glancing down at it once more before removing it from his finger and handing it back to the saleswoman.

“It’s a size seven.  Does that sound about right?” she asks, handing it off to a technician to be cleaned.  

“I think so,” Jack says, looking down at the spot where it fit on his pinky.

“It’s no trouble to get it resized later if you need to.  Resizings and cleanings are included in the purchase, so you can come back any time to get it cleaned up if you really need it to shine for a special event.”

“Thanks,” Jack says as he pulls out his wallet and hands over his credit card.  

“As long as it’s not damaged or altered in any way, all our merchandise can be returned for a full refund.”

“I don’t think Captain has to worry about him saying no,” Tater says, pulling him into a one-armed hug.  

“When are you going to pop the question?” Marty asks.  “On your trip?”

“Maybe,” Jack says, signing the receipt and taking a small Tiffany blue box when it’s offered to him.  “I haven’t decided yet.”

“There’s no rush, Jack,” Snowy assures him as they thank the staff and file back out into the alley.  “You’ll know when the time is right.”

“Right,” Jack says, mind reeling as the box burns a hole in the front pocket of his sweatshirt.  “Right.”

“Now we go back to bar and celebrate!” Tater crows, squeezing Jack’s shoulders so hard he can feel it deep in his deltoids.

“I think I’m good, actually,” Jack says, shaking his head and shrugging Tater off before he does permanent damage.  “I want to get some more sleep.  Our flight is early tomorrow.”

“We’ll drop you off at the hotel first,” Thirdy assures him as they climb back into the limo.

“What about you?” Jack asks Marty who is massaging his temples as Snowy and Tater pull a water bottle and disposable shot glasses out of who knows where.

“J’deviens trop vieux pour c’te marde,” Marty mumbles under his breath before shaking his head.

“Could be our last year in the playoffs, Father Time,” Thirdy says, holding out a glass of clear liquid.  “Got to enjoy the glory days _before_ we retire, otherwise it’s just sad.”

“What mean ‘Father Time?’” Tater asks, already pouring himself another.

“It means Marty’s wife is going to have to start blending his dinners soon.  Tell me,” Thirdy says, turning to Marty, “what was it like having to wait your turn for the payphone on roadies?”

“Don’t worry,” Snowy chimes in, “everyone on Twitter is still calling you a DILF.”

“What’s a DILF?” Jack asks, pulling his feet back as Tater starts sloshing what he thinks is vodka on the carpet.

“Is meaning dad I’d like for fucking,” Tater says sagely, taking another shot.  “Marty is dad I’d like for fucking.  Everyone know this.”

“I’m not fucking you, Tater.”

“Is okay,” Alexei shrugs.  “I could find younger man for fucking if I need one.  Someone who not break hip.”

Jack can’t help but laugh right along with Snowy and Thirdy.  He may not know as much slang as Tater, but he can appreciate a good chirp when he hears one.

Marty rolls his eyes but finally takes the shot, wincing as he swallows.  “Alright, alright, you’ve made your point.  I think I’ve got a few more hours left in me,” he says, eliciting cheers from the rest of the group.

“I’m still going to bed,” Jack reminds them, peering out the window to make sure they’re heading back to the hotel.

“Killjoy,” Snowy says, smiling fondly at him.

“Captain is not killing joy.  Is just wanting to go back to room to Skype Itty Bitty.”

Jack wasn’t planning on it, actually, but he finds himself checking his watch.  It’s just past one.  Eric is usually up at least this late.  He could call… just to say hi.

“I’d stay in too if I was going to get laid,” Thirdy muses.

“I’m not getting laid,” Jack insists, sighing.

“You could be, though,” Snowy points out.  “Just sayin’.”

“If there tie on the door again I just go sleep with Marty.”

“I’m still not fucking you, Tater!”

“I didn’t say for fucking!  Sleeping not just mean fucking!” Alexei shouts back.  “Why no one ever wanting to cuddle Tater?  Just bang bang and then empty bed in morning!”

“Does Bitty have any cousins?” Thiry asks, nodding toward a now-pouting Tater.

“I’d have to ask.”

“Is pie baking family trait?” Tater asks, perking up.  “Or is Bitty special?”

“I think it is, actually,” Jack says, laughing freely as they pull up to the hotel, one hand clenched around the small box in his pocket.  “But Eric is definitely special.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
> “J’deviens trop vieux pour c’te marde,” Marty mumbles under his breath before shaking his head.  
> "I'm getting too old for this shit."
> 
> Visual Aid:  
> Not that I think Tiffany's carries anything like [this](http://www.thejewelleryeditor.com/media/images_thumbnails/filer_public_thumbnails/filer_public/de/28/de287630-4237-4e3b-837e-54a4a86109fa/marquise-solitaire-diamond-ring-supreme_00002.jpg__1536x0_q75_crop-scale_subsampling-2_upscale-false.jpg), but that's how I imagine this ring!

**Author's Note:**

> For updates about my progress, follow me over [here](https://aflailureandamasterpiece.tumblr.com/).


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